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manyothermusingsofmine · 3 months ago

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Sticky Brambles || Drabble

Fandom: Xmen Warnings: uh, minor warning for intimacy talk I guess but it's nothing graphic Wordcount: 2481

Summary: A tumble into some bushes leads Kurt and Miranda to talk about some things on their mind. AN: I'll be honest idc what kinda plant decided to use Kurt's fur as transportation method just idk. pick one I guess.

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The fact that the mansion was surrounded by enormous trees with big strong branches made it near irresistible for the more acrobatically inclined among the crew to clamber all over them, swinging from branch to branch and tree to tree- Kurt especially could not resist that call from within; it was much harder to take the circus out of his heart than him out of the circus. The problem was that tree branches are even less predictable than gym equipment, and between him and Gambit the bars of the gym equipment indoors sometimes barely survived their core strengthening routine.

One of the branches that had already suffered during one of Storm's outdoor training sessions could decisively not support the weight of an acrobat, snapping under the strain. Normally that wouldn't be an issue with Kurt's ability of teleporting, but midway in his fall he noticed pretty much the last person at the mansion he wanted to see him fail like that. Because of it his brain crashed, unable to give him an location in time to poof away to and instead the blue mutant rather ungracefully tumbled into the thick shrubbery below.

Miranda had seen the whole thing, instinctively wincing at the sound of his fall straight into the unforgiving bushes. She jumped up on her feet, immediately going over and calling for him because the thick leaves didn't make it easy to see where exactly he had landed. That was until his white gloved hand stuck itself out from the specific patch he had landed in, with her immediately going over.

"I've got you," she assured even though her own voice sounded rather panicked as she pulled him up from the shrubbery, wincing once more. While he seemed mostly fine, Kurt had taken a tumble directly into a bush full of seeds with thick outer shells full of little barbs and hooks to cling to the fur of animals that came looking for a meal. And those seeds didn't care that Kurt didn't exactly count as a similar mode of transport; they stuck to his face and tail regardless.

"... Ow," he just muttered, the red heat of embarrassment painting shades of purple on his cheeks as he winced himself at the pull of the seeds on his fur and skin underneath. Miranda just helped him to a clearing first, carefully sitting him down under a tree.

"You alright? Are you hurt?" she asked, worry clinging to her voice as she carefully looked him over for more serious injuries like broken bones.

"... just a severely bruised ego. Of course you had to see that," he mumbled, his blush intensifying and a slight hiss leaving him as his tail tried to shake some of the seeds of and failed miserably.

"Yeah, sorry about that; I have the weird ability to always notice stuff like that," Miranda said, looking at his face and tail, "uhm, silver lining being that at least you wore your suit and these buggers dont seem to like the fabric of that- not like your fuzz anyway. I... Here, I'll try to get them off. I can't promise it won't hurt, but I'll try to be gentle, okay?"

Kurt just nodded, trying to brace himself as her nimble fingers went to work to pluck the seeds off his face first. It did very much feel like velcro being pulled away from him, and he definitely couldn't help the hisses of discomfort that left his throat.... It surprised him that those didn't make her back off. She just hushed at him softly, clearly trying to keep her touch as gently as she could while freeing him from the seeds that clung to his fur.

"My tail is going to be a lot more difficult; ow-"

"Sorry."

"It's okay. It's.. instinctual, you know? Sometimes I don't really have full control over my tail, it kind of does whatever it wants to do on its own merit."

"Kind of like how blinking and breathing usually isn't manual, or stomach growling when you're hungry?"

"Something like that," Kurt admitted as she managed to get the last seed off his face. Miranda gently cupped his face in her hands, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead that he couldn't help but purr to.

"Let me try anyway. Better to try and get some off then let them stick to your fur," she said softly.

"... Okay."

She gestured for him to swing his tail over to her, and her nimble fingers went back to work to pluck the seeds away from his fur. His tail did twitch with every one she removed, but since she only temporarily held on to the tail each time for a little support instead of holding it indefinitely everything seemed to be fine.

"Huh," she muttered to herself, green eyes flicking up to Kurt for a moment, "I've never noticed before, but the arrow tip doesn't seem to have any fur?"

"Oh, yeah. It kind of fades out to the end of my tail; the tip doesn't have fur but it’s also not really.. human skin?" Kurt mused, the tip of his tail lightly flicking, "same with my extremities. My fingers and toes fade out in a similar fashion to something kind of in between fuzz and human skin. I guess it’s because I still need to be able to feel; if the pads of my fingers and toes were equally as fuzzy as the rest it would mess with touch perception. Same with the tail tip, it’s pretty much like another limb to me that needs to be able to feel what it’s doing, especially with how instinctively it reacts sometimes. That's my theory, anyway. The very tips of my ears are also the same; no true fur there either, and... uhm... you know what, I'm not finishing that train of thought, if you don't mind."

She blinked, genuinely not understanding the sudden halt in his talking as it seemed to distract him from the feeling of having the things plucked off his tail- until she saw his blush deepen and a red hue of her own crept on her face. Oh.

Oh.

"I.... Uh... guess that all makes sense."

"Yeah. Sorry, didn't mean to make it awkward- ow."

"Sorry. And.. well, it was going to come up at some point anyway, right?" her green eyes slowly turned to the side, before she turned them back to focus on the task at hand, "hey... uhm, can I confide something in you?"

"Of course," his voice was soft, warm... comforting. It really did make her feel like she could tell him anything while for once in her life feeling like it wasn't being slotted away to use as ammunition against her later.

".... Sometimes I wish I was... you know. Normal. At least in that regard. That I had just hit the same milestones everyone else seemed to have done. Like, sure, I know not everyone makes it to the perfect average or whatever but... Maybe the whole thing would be less scary to me if I had previous experience, if I knew just what I was getting myself into. The technical know-how can only get you so far, but like, actually asking advice on what's supposed to be the emotional part to it feels so.. taboo, I guess? Like, you either end up with people who can't be serious about it for five seconds, who feel the need to make it a joke either because they never matured past a middle school age or because they're uncomfortable about the subject itself. Or you have people who do want to help but only.. I don't know. Take Shadow for example; sure I can ask her about the medical side of it all but when it comes to the emotional side and my inexperience with that whole element it feels like she… pities me."

"I don't think she pities you," Kurt very gently corrected, "It's just a difficult thing to talk about because the emotional side of it is so personal. To some the emotional side doesn't matter, to some a little, to others a lot... and... well, to someone like me, and I think you as well; the emotional side is the whole reason to even want to give it a try. It’s hard to give advice and guidance on that when it differs so much from person to person."

"I guess so... I'm glad we're having this conversation now, away from the mansion. It's easier to talk like this, truly one on one. Though I have to admit, watching Shadow threaten Gambit with a slipper for walking into the room she uses for consults while we were having a conversation is a sight to behold. She's scary when angry; scary enough to chase him off."

"Mh," Kurt hummed softly in agreement, his golden eyes on her, "and, hey.. Miranda?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think you're weird or abnormal for not having that kind of experience. I mean, I don't either. So.. what I said before still holds true; we can figure all of it out together. Okay?"

"... Thank you. You're really sweet. I thought, you know, with you being a devout Catholic... I don't know. I thought talking about stuff like this would be more difficult. I think I'm the only one making it such a big deal," she muttered, carefully removing the remaining few seeds from his tail.

"If it’s any consolation, it's a big deal to me too," Kurt said softly, the expression on his face just as soft as he caught her gaze in his, "not because of my religion, but because it'll be with someone very dear to me."

Her blush intensified at that, her restless eyes unsure of where to look and in their dance to escape they just got caught in the warm glow of his eyes once more.

"I..." she started, her throat drying out as she tried to get the words out, "t... thank you. You're... You mean a lot to me, too.."

He smiled, slowly scooting closer to her as his tail instinctively started to wag. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and as Kurt curled up next to her, he took one of her hands to press a delicate kiss to the back of it. Miranda was sure she was turning a new, previously unknown shade of red, her invisibility rapidly flickering on and off for a moment until she willed it to behave. Kurt's tail only wagged faster at that, a small smile curling his lips.

"I think it’s so cute when you flicker like that," he said softly, only making her blush worse before it got a little less intense, "Sorry, I hope I'm not making it worse-"

"It's... I'm okay," she muttered, one of her hands finding his to hold for a little more comfort, "I... I think it doesn't know how to react to embarrassment. I guess it triggers the same adrenalin response of fear so it feels the need to click on but since I'm not like, actually physically in danger it feels like false alarm and wants to shut back off? I don't know. I plan on asking Hank or Shadow about it sometime."

"Either way I think it's cute," Kurt said in a small purr, gently pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes and behind her ear, "also, thank you for helping me out with my oh so graceful tumble into the bushes. I appreciate it."

"I do think you’re very graceful. And… you'd do the same for me."

In a soft moment of quiet between them, Miranda silently rested her head to his shoulder as Kurt lightly tucked her head under his chin, his wagging tail wrapping around her on pure instinct. Quietly leaning into each other like that felt like genuine bliss for a while, until Kurt's sharp ears picked up the sound of footsteps drawing near. His eyes opened and quickly found a very thick branch that would support both their weight, immediately teleporting both of them up there and pulling Miranda into a protective embrace. If he did miscalculate the weigh carrying ability of the branch again, he wasn't going to let her get hurt in his stead. Both of them looked down at who came scurrying through the bushes and both let out a sigh.

"It's just Gambit," Kurt huffed, "surely you told him by now, like you did with your other friends?"

Miranda just blinked at him a few times, visible confusion on her face; "Uh, I figured you'd tell him that we're together. He's part of your friend group."

"The two of you are like peas in a pod, Süße. I figured you would tell him."

"Well, from the smell of it Kurt's been here," the voice of the Cajun below interrupting their soft back and forth on who's responsibility it exactly was to officially clue Remy in on the change in their relationship, "sure hope he ain't up to something with fifolet."

"Nothing you'd do when no one's watching, anyway," Kurt lightly growled in a response his friend wasn’t supposed to hear, rolling his eyes as Miranda giggled at it, "seriously, I wish this was an apple orchid. I'm sure I could directly hit him from here."

Miranda elbowed him as she tried desperately to not burst out in laughter and give their position up in the canopy away.

"Where is fifolet anyway? Haven't seen her the whole day either," Gambit mused to himself, to which Miranda just threw up a 'rock on' hand gesture before whispering 'skill issue'- to which it was Kurt's turn to try and not break out into laughter as Remy took off to wherever he felt the need to go.

"Peas in a pod, huh?" Miranda said to Kurt with a grin.

"I never said those can't argue," Kurt protested, "anyway; we'll figure out who gets the questionable honor of telling Gambit we're together, somehow. He's gonna be obnoxious about it, no doubt; but it also doesn't feel right to have him be the only one who doesn't officially know."

"Yeah, that's fair, but that’s also a problem we’ll deal with later," Miranda responded, curling back into Kurt's embrace to breathe in his scent for a second before lightly pushing herself back up to face him. Her eyes looked into his, momentarily flicking away before looking back, "Kurt?"

"Mhh?"

".... Kiss me?"

She didn't have to ask twice, with him eagerly fulfilling her request by pressing his lips on hers. One of his hands moved up to lightly cup her jaw, his thumb gently running over her skin as he deepened the kiss and could only smile at feeling her answer with the same amount of passion- all while her fingers hooked into the fabric of his suit to keep him close.

#Drifting writes things #your honor I have a head ow and semi fluff is the only thing that helps with that

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onelovewonderwoman · 4 years ago

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first class || charles xavier x reader

i’ve been on an x-men binge and fell into a hole of james mcavoy and charles xavier again, so here we are. i haven’t written fics in a long time, so i tried to again. i’m uncreative so like the title is just the first movie because of the fact that it’s set during that time. kind of like self insert cause there’s a few bits and pieces where there’s canonical plot and interactions, so disclaimer for that. anyways, hope you guys enjoy! ps also don’t have enough energy to find a fitting gif so maybe i’ll find one later maybe i won’t. we’ll see

words: 5.8k

warnings: not proofread (i spent three days on this so i don’t have the energy anymore haha), writing lacks emotional depth, drug use and mentions, intent of murder, thoughts of (murder, rape, suicide, etc.), poorly written two paragraphs about kissing, angst, we ignore moira and charles’ romance cause... duh, it’s x reader and it’s too difficult for me to work around it rn a haha

masterlist

The rooms were always the same. They were dark, illuminated only by the dimmest of lights emanating from the occasional lava lamp or fairy lights. Fairy - ironic word for such situations, such rooms. Filled so heavily with smoke it made it hard to breathe, let alone see. And the floors; the floors always felt different.

In hindsight, it was probably the one thing that had her realizing the rooms were never actually the same. Sure, they had the same smell, the same overcrowdedness and moving bodies, the same darkness, even the same taste, but the floors testified to the difference each room held.

Sometimes, when the world would freeze and all the people around her became nothing but a mesh of warm bodies, she could hear the floor creak under her feet with every step she took. There she was - the house right down the street from her.

Other times, the floors felt sticky under her shoes. She assumed it was tequila. There were always too many bottles around to count, surely there would be spills. Or, some poor guy could have pissed himself like that one time. When her shoes sounded like velcro as she walked across the floor, she was at the house all the way across town.

In any case, she felt the same ankle up. One of her favourite parts had to be the way the music always abused her ears - so high, it made her feel lightheaded. More so than she already had been both. Sex was not nearly regular enough for her to compare, but she knew what she would feel every time the music was loud enough to make her head buzz and throb with a vengeance was more erotic than anything anyone could ever do to her.

The place could change but the scene never really did. Down to the people - she knew this for sure. She knew every beating heart around her like they were her own. She never only felt it there, but in her head as well. Even as it buzzed, she felt it. Sometimes it tore at her skull as if trying to escape - ironic.

Now, why did the scene change one evening in 1962? She told herself it was fate, but it had merely been wishful thinking when she knew why. How did she know? She knew the man sitting next to her on the worn down couch, nearly entirely unconscious and reeking of weed and vodka, knew the girl across the house, the girl across the house knew the man next to her and that - so on and so forth - meant she knew all three of them, even though they didn’t know her. So, for two new men to walk into the house, their eyes focused - focused on her - changed the scene entirely.

Now, the music became nothing more than an assault on her ears; the lights became too bright at the same time as the dark became too dark; the air became heavier than usual; and she sobered up at the feeling of something - someone - in her head. Then, it all caved in. It was as overwhelming as it always was, but she was used to it enough to handle it for a little while, at least whilst remnants of her high remained. She couldn’t say the same for the shorter of the two men she saw keel over at the pressure.

He got over it pretty quick, from what she could tell. “Charles Xavier,” he introduced himself as, “This is my colleague, Erik Lensherr.”

A quick trip from the couch to the door had her standing on the lawn of the house of the night with the two men. Crickets could be heard fighting against the sound of the music blaring from the house as she swayed on her feet, making wet sounds in the grass from earlier rain. Charles stood not much taller than her, charm emanating from him and the way his piercing blue eyes seemed to smile despite his furrowed brows and mouth set in a straight line as he stared at her, waiting for a response with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. Erik stood taller, stoic and calculating.

“And?” She crossed her arms across her chest, both in discomfort and the fact that the chilly night air had begun to bite at her skin, her long sleeve doing nothing to help. “I should care why?”

If the incident earlier wasn’t enough, the way the both of them looked at her was enough for her to know why. “What’s your name?” Charles asked, having her notice then the English accent on his tongue.

The second she gave it to him, he smiled - almost sympathetically - at her and hummed, “You have an incredibly busy mind, Y/N.”

“And you have an incredibly nosy one, Charles.” That had Erik letting out a chuckle, one that felt like approval to her ears.

Never in a million years would she dare say yes to anything of the sort the two men proposed to her that night. A team of mutants; not necessarily that she thought it was absurd or a horrible idea - no. It made sense, not factoring in their current climate, to have a team of mutants fighting against the evils of the world. The horrible idea was to have her join. No, she wanted to tell them, “I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking too,” Erik agreed with her, catching both herself and Charles off guard, “We’ll be going then.”

He offered her his hand. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring at his outstretched arm. Sometimes her high slowed time - it could have been five seconds or five minutes. When she finally looked away from his hand, up at him, she saw he stood unwavered and patient.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Her eyes shot to Charles as he broke the silence. He shook his head, brows still furrowed and mouth set in a straight line. “You’re under no obligation.”

For Charles to know, she understood. He had just been in her mind long enough to know that most of it wasn’t even hers. For Erik to know and offer her his hand made her wonder just how desperate he was to assemble the team - for whatever reason that she was about to find out in a moment.

“We leave now.” Was all he said after he tore his hand from hers.

An hour hasn’t even passed when she found herself on a plane with the two men, mind still buzzing but this time not with a high. This time, with an overwhelming anger and anticipation. The way Erik didn’t make eye contact with her and Charles sent worried glances her way throughout their trip to their “base” was enough to tell her that they knew she had already been briefed on what was happening - the reason behind their assembling of a team. Rather, she knew specifically of the personal motive behind it.

All it made her heart feel like it was beating a mile a minute. It pounded against her chest so hard she was sure at least one of them could hear it. So badly did she want to hide out in the plane’s bathroom and take something to stop the pain, but it was off the table. For now.

Soon enough the flight ended, and she came to find out their “base” was a covert CIA facility where they placed the other mutants they rounded up before her. She just as quickly met and said goodbye to Moira MacTaggert, a CIA officer working with Charles and Erik to stop Shaw. His name alone sent sparks of rage flowing through her veins.

She was left with the group when the three went off that night. There, she came face to face with Raven, Sean, Alex, Hank, Darwin, and Angel - or, Mystique, Banshee, and Havok. Darwin and Angel were “self explanatory”, considering they were already nicknames and described their powers fairly well. Hank was just… Hank.

Her turn came around quickly, once everyone settled down from Alex’s show of his “gift”, when all heads turned to her, sitting at the end of the couch. Raven smiled at her - she liked her, she was sweet - “What about you? What’s your power?”

“I’m,” She paused for a moment, the eyes on her making her anxious and curl into herself hoping, praying, another mutant wouldn’t touch her. “I can move things. With my mind.” She gave a tight smile to Raven and nodded her head, as if to reassure herself. “I can move things with my mind.”

Raven’s smile only widened, excited by either the prospect of her being able to move things with her mind or the opportunity to give her an alias. She assumed it was the latter. She excused herself to the washroom just as Raven asked the group what they thought. “We’ll have one for you once you get back! Promise!” Raven called after her.

Body filled with anticipation, she nearly ran to the washroom, willing the door closed behind her after she entered. It was small, but clean - CIA property after all.

She tried. She really did. Albeit, making contact with a mutant was always the worst; Erik especially. The trauma, the pain, the thoughts. All them clawed at her brain, as though they were tearing through it layer by layer until nothing but them remained within her skull.

Nothing could stop her from taking out the small baggy in her back pocket and tearing it open. Nothing could stop her from taking it, only to feel a rush flow through her. It would take a bit, but soon enough she would stop feeling them gnawing on her very existence. Soon, numbness would wash over her and she could just be no one.

She guessed she was in the washroom for about half an hour. Staring at her reflection, at the floor, at the ceiling, at anything, but when she made her way back to the room, she found it in disarray. Music was blasting from the radio, chairs flipped over, Raven on top of the couch dancing as Hank hung from the ceiling light, the rest of the group messing around with their powers. She couldn’t tell if they were experiencing some high of their own or just happened to have gotten their hands on some alcohol.

“What are you doing? Who destroyed the statue?” Moira’s voice broke her out of the trance she was in watching the group. Slowly, she turned her head to see her, Charles, and Erik walking over as everyone else froze. Moira was angry, that much anyone could tell, but the two men were unreadable.

Hank was the first one to reply back, jumping down the ceiling, panicked, “It was Alex.”

“No. Havok.” Raven seemed to stay unfazed, still standing on the couch with a wide smile on her face. “We have to call him Havok. That's his name now…”

Raven’s words melted away from her. Her focus wasn’t elsewhere; it was simply nowhere at all. She stared at everyone in the room, yet no one at all. So caught up in nothing she didn’t notice Charles himself staring at her until Erik uttered something under his breath and walked away with Moira following, brows furrowed in what looked to be confusion. Just as she caught his eye, he looked away.

Directed at Raven, he spoke firmly, “I expect more from you.”

Not long after, they had gotten word that Shaw would be in Russia, and so she was left with the group of mutants when the three left alongside the CIA to get their hands on him. Before, it would have made her wonder what purpose the group of mutants really served if they didn’t want them there to help. Now, after the incident, she understood why.

By no means were any of them prepared for such a task. She couldn’t claim to be either. She only agreed because she knew a part within her would hate her for not coming and at the very least trying to help.

Just when she thought she and the solemn group couldn’t be any more of a liability, she was proven wrong. Because now Sebastian Shaw stood in front of them, smug and irritating as ever, after having his lackey drop an unsuspecting CIA to his death in front of all of them and cornering them.

“Good evening. My name's Sebastian Shaw, and I'm not here to hurt you.” She was sure she wasn’t the only one assuming he had taken out every single CIA operative in the facility to make it this far; a thought that filled her being with even more dread than she was already feeling at the sight of him. “My friends, there's a revolution coming. When mankind discovers who we are, what we can do, each of us will face a choice. Be enslaved or rise up to rule. Choose freely, but know that if you are not with us, then by definition, you are against us. So, you can stay and fight for the people who hate and fear you. Or you can join me, and love like kings and queens.”

They all watched, both shocked and betrayed when Angel took the hand Shaw outstretched, standing by his side even when he murdered Darwin in his attempt to stop him with Alex. She didn’t see it - she turned away the second Shaw released the energy he’d taken from Alex into Darwin. She heard it, though. The explosion. When she turned back, as Shaw, Angel, and the men he had brought with him retreated, she saw nothing. There was no sign of Darwin; not even a speck of dust.

Suddenly, her chest tightened and the clawing came back.

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The person who happened to almost send them home also happened to be the one who provided them a new place to train their powers for the fight with Shaw. Charles was entirely serious and extremely close to sending them all home; “They’re just kids.” But Erik made it clear to him that they couldn’t be anymore, not after Shaw.

Charles lived, alongside Raven, in a massive mansion that had been entirely too big for her to take in, but it provided the perfect space for them to train their powers. Each of them were assigned rooms by Charles personally that day.

He took the liberty of walking them each there. She didn’t know if it was just her or a Charles thing, but he stayed quiet. Unusual for a man that had so much to say. But then again, with what they’ve already been through, she couldn’t imagine he was feeling very chatty. She certainly wouldn’t have been in his situation. Granted, she would be feeling the same way now, but in her predicament by this point, she wouldn’t mind someone else’s verbal company.

The second he guided her through the bedroom

door, she began to take in the sheer size of the room, feeling bigger than life itself in the way that she was feeling. The bed was even better; huge and looked as though the softness of it would swallow her into a warm hug. Her first instinct would have been to jump right onto it, but the fact that Charles ceased to leave and instead remained planted there, giving her a look she couldn’t make out once she turned to face him, made her fight against her urges.

She opened her mouth in an attempt to utter an “Are you alright?” but never got the chance. Instead, Charles spoke as soon as her mouth opened, slowly, as if to make sure she understood every word he was saying like she had been incapable of doing so before, “Training starts tonight, but I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

With her brows furrowed in confusion, she nodded, and Charles began to walk away. He stopped by the frame of the door, back to her, and spoke again, “Try and get some rest.”

With that, he shut the door behind him. Now, she was left in the room alone, tiredness washing over her. Awaiting the next day, she decided to fall into the cloud that was the bed and fall asleep while she could.

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The next morning was when Charles asked to see her - by Raven. The young woman led her over to a room, an odd dome shaped one, where Charles stood waiting. He wasn’t the same as the night before - uncomfortable, was the only way she knew to describe it - welcoming and encouraging.

“We’ve got plenty of work to do,” Charles spoke, hands in his pockets, as she entered and Raven excused herself elsewhere. Looking around, she could see evidence that training had started last night, namely Alex’s. Dark scuff marks were streaked across walls of the dome on the end farthest from them and small balls of fluff on the floor remained, assumingly left behind in the midst of a quick clean up of training dummies that had been torn open.

Despite the mess, several other objects were placed across the floor. All ranged from light to heavy. Chairs, weights - it looked to be anything he could have been capable of carrying in with the help of the others.

She stopped in front of him. “What’s this?”

The man’s smile widened before he started, rather loudly at that. “Well.” He moved towards the objects then spun around to face her, arms outstretched. “This is the beginning of your training.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at the man unimpressed. “You want me to move this stuff around?”

“You’re not just moving stuff around.” Charles shook his head, arms dropping to his sides as he declared. “You don’t need to move everything here. I only need to see how much you can handle.” His head tilted as he looked at her, blue eyes meeting her own as his expression retreated to one of curiosity. “And how you handle it.”

She didn’t think the professor was aware of the innuendo within the situation, so she let it go despite the sweet stomach dropping feeling that came over her. Instead, she shrugged. “Then what?”

“Then,” Charles hesitated for a moment, “Erik was able to move a satellite dish. If it happens to be possible-”

“A satellite dish?” She laughed incredulously, “You can be serious.”

Charles nodded towards her, challenging her statements as he took a few steps forward. “And what is it that’s making you believe you’re incapable of doing anything similar?”

“Look.” She shook her head, looking directly at him when she said, “I can move the average household item, shut a door and maybe, just maybe, bust it down, but I couldn’t push your couch across the room, let alone move a fu- a satellite dish.”

Charles’ brows furrowed. “And that’s what you believe?”

She hummed. “That’s what I know.”

“Well,” he sighed, disappointment written across his face that sent her into a spiral, “There’s not much we can do if you don’t believe you can better yourself, is there?”

The second he walked past her was when it felt as though ice water had been spilt onto her. A mixture of confusion and gloom washed over her before she turned to see Charles’ back, still moving towards the door. “What?”

He stopped in his tracks at her exclamation, waiting several moments as if contemplating before he turned back to her. Carefully, he asked, “Why do you take them?”

She shook her head, looking almost offended. “How did you-”

“Your mind,” Charles confirmed, “It gets quieter.”

The offence on her face never ceased, but the uncomfortable mixture of feelings she was overwhelmed with had her shrug in response to his question. Charles only nodded and gave her a tight smile before turning back.

She closed her eyes, resigning herself with huff. She could go back to the life she had come to know and hate, or she could take the second chance he was giving her even if it did include the prospect of some suffering.

“I don’t take them for fun.” The sound of her voice made Charles stop again. This time, he waited. “When I touch a person I don’t just take every experience. I take every memory.”

He turned around to face her once more and gave her nod, signalling her to continue. She breathed in and out. “I see and I feel everything that’s happened to them. That’s a lot and it’s enough, but that’s not why I-”

She cut herself off, feeling herself choke on the words before shaking her head and persisting herself on despite Charles’ look of concern. “I take them because, when I take their memories, I take all of their thoughts too. Every one. So every thought of murder, or rape, or suicide, or any fucked up thing, keeps tearing me apart from the inside out.”

Charles nodded, walking closer to her, choosing his words carefully as he spoke, sympathy written deep in his soft voice, “And they scare you.”

She shook her head. Looking away from him for a moment, she willed away tears she felt gathering. She turned back to him. “The thought of acting on them scares me.”

Although slightly taken aback by the revelation, Charles holds his composure. He nodded before opening his mouth to respond, walking closer as he began.

The only reaction he got was her taking a step back, shaking her head. “I swear I’m not a bad person.” Charles assumed she didn’t want him touching her - considering she took away every thought. “I’m always all these people at once - I don’t even know who I am.”

“Then we will figure it out.” Charles tilted his head, making sure her eyes met his when she attempted to look away. His voice was soft and reassuring to her ears, even if she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “You aren’t alone, Y/N.”

As it turns, the drugs were having a large effect on her ability to use her powers - the next few days told her as much. By no means was she capable of moving a satellite dish, but she had been able to take her powers to lengths she never thought she could have been able to.

Most of it was due to Charles - he’d spent most of the next few days with her, pushing her, sometimes to the point where she’d snap at him. She always calmed, though, and Charles always remained coolheaded.

Still, they grew closer. Or at least she grew closer to him. She couldn’t tell if the praise, the laughs, the banter, and the willingness to come back together after a fight only meant something to her. She hoped it did - because why else wouldn’t he just give up on her? All that time spent on advancing her powers to defeat Shaw, and he still talked about helping her as though their relationship would continue past this mission.

Part of her wanted to touch him so she could just know. Even if he hadn’t taken such a liking to her as she had him, at the very least try to understand him in his entirety and make a space for herself in his life. Then, another part of her was horrified at what she would find in there.

For the time being, there wasn’t much opportunity to dwell on it. The day they would head out was coming soon, and Erik suggested the group get a good night’s rest. They would all need it.

With her luck, she didn’t know why she thought that sleep would come easy that night. Whether it was due to adrenaline, anxiety, or anything else, didn’t matter. Because whatever was keeping her up had her pacing the hallways of Charles’ estate that night.

She wasn’t looking for it, but instead happened upon a conversation.

“… no difference. Shaw’s declared war on mankind. On all of us. He has to be stopped.” She heard Charles’ voice through a door as she passed by. Although knowing that he could probably make out the sound of her mind from a mile away, she still stopped by it. She grew even more curious when she heard Erik’s voice.

“I'm not gonna stop Shaw. I'm gonna kill him. Do you have it in you to allow that?” A moment of silence passed and she shifted on her feet. It made the floor creek. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, nervous, expecting to hear the sound of one of their footsteps coming to open the door and catch her eavesdropping. Whether they heard or not, she didn’t know as Erik continued on, “You've known all along why I was here, Charles. But things have changed. What started as a covert mission, tomorrow mankind will know that mutants exist. Shaw, us, they won't differentiate. They'll fear us. And that fear will turn to hatred.”

“Not if we stop a war,” Charles’ voice wavered on a line of urgency and assurance, “Not if we can prevent Shaw. Not if we risk our lives doing so.”

Charles very well could have been doing nothing but reassuring Erik with his words, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually trying to reassure himself. As if the world wouldn’t either discard or abuse them once they’ve served their purpose of their betterment.

“Will they do the same for us?”

“We have it in us to be the better men.”

“We already are.” Erik’s voice quickly turned from calm to urgent when he next spoke. “We're the next stage of human evolution. You said it yourself!”

“No, no!” She heard Charles attempt to cut Erik off before he sighed. She could practically hear the disappointment in it, although she couldn’t say she felt the same. He only let Erik continue.

“Are you really so naive as to think that they won't battle their own extinction?” She heard him pause. “Or is it arrogance?”

“I’m sorry?” As if Charles had misheard him.

She shifted on her feet once more as their voices became more hushed, despite the feeling coming from the room becoming more hostile than calm. This time, she was more careful. Nothing made a sound below her feet when she moved closer to the door, pressing her ear against it, as well as her left palm for support.

“After tomorrow, they're gonna turn us. But you're blind to it, because you believe they're all like Moira.”

“And you believe they're all like Shaw.” Came Charles’ immediate response. Calmly, she heard him continue, “Listen to me very carefully my friend. Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.”

Erik’s voice never wavered when he told Charles, “Peace was never an option.”

Footsteps came far too fast for her to move away from the door. In a split second, she found herself leaning against the door to crashing into Erik’s chest when he pulled the door open. For a moment, Erik stood staring down at her, watching her attempt to recompose herself and attempt to apologize. She didn’t get a word out before he moved past her and walked away.

She watched his form retreat before she turned back to the room. Standing in the doorway, she saw Charles sitting in the chair facing away from her. With his eyes closed and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed, “You realize I can hear your mind from across this house?”

She took a step in, almost reluctantly. She didn’t imagine Charles would be content with anything she had to say, but maybe she could make him understand. “Erik’s right, you know.”

Her words had Charles’ eyes snap open. He got out the chair, setting down the drink he was nursing on the table next to him, before he turned to face her. “Excuse me?”

“Peace isn’t an option ‘cause we’re never gonna get peace.” She shook her head, desperation in both her voice and eyes as she stared into his. “Erik thinks they’re gonna turn on us. They might not, but it doesn’t mean any of us will get any peace. They won’t all be like Shaw, they won’t all be like Moira, but most of them - most of them will just be human. They’ll fear us and they’ll judge us. It doesn’t matter how harmless we are or not.”

She watched as Charles took a step forward, his head tilting to the side, expression unreadable as his voice remained calm. “You can’t be serious.” It was a statement - a wrong one.

“Shaw needs to die,” She spoke with assurance. She felt her eyes fill with tears, Charles watching her suck in a breath and release as he began to walk closer to her, before she spoke in a whisper, no longer trusting her voice, “Shaw needs to die for what he did to us. We’re going to kill him, Charles.”

They’re faces we’re merely inches apart, chilling her to the bone as he looked at her. What she thought he would never do is what he tried the second he began to raise his hand, speaking quickly to her when he asked, “Us?”

His hand almost cupped her cheek when she turned her head away from it. Immediately, his hand froze. Charles watched her profile as more tears welled up in her eyes and her lips began to tremble. Voice weak and tearful, staring away from him, she pleaded, “Please don’t confuse me. I can’t-”

“I know you feel it,” Charles’ other hand came up to guide her face back to him despite her, whispering carefully, “But it is not your cross to bear.”

His hand was warm against her cheek. Comforting - enough to make her mind go blank. Wishful thinking, of course, because soon the clawing in her head would come back with a vengeance at having a man such as Charles touch her. For now, though, he felt safe. Stable. Enough so that she could close her eyes for a moment and let the tears fall as he leaned down to her and let his forehead press against hers.

“You can’t help but feel his pain,” She felt his breath against her lips as he spoke, his voice the same soft and soothing as she’s known it to be, “But you can decide what you do with it.”

She shook her head gently and pulled away, but still letting Charles’ hand rest against her cheek. “It’s not just-” she whispered to him, mouth feeling dry as her eyes avoided his, trying to piece her thoughts together. His hand slid down to the base of her neck, guiding her eyes to his. She licked her lips before she swallowed. “I barely knew Darwin, but he killed him right in front of us. And it was cruel and scary and I couldn’t even make myself look at it when it happened.”

“I know.” Charles brought his other hand up to brush away slow falling tears she hadn’t even known began to escape. He voiced nothing but concern, letting her continue as if he knew what she was going to say next.

Her hands reached up to wrap around his wrists, not to pull his hands away from her, but to simply hold onto them. Almost as if they were an anchor to make up for the tears she now felt were falling faster down her face as she realized. “For the first time, I think I want something, I feel this anger and fear, because of my head. I saw it first and I felt it first. It’s mine, and now I have a real responsibility to take care of it.”

“Not with murder.” Her hands tightened around his wrists as he brought her face closer to his own. A frown on his face as he desperately told her, “I meant it when I told you that we would figure this out together. You told me you were never your own person, that you don’t even know yourself. We were - we are - going to bring you into existence. I beg you, Y/N, don’t let yourself be brought into this world as a murderer.”

His words, as beautiful as they were, only half registered within her brain. All she found herself focusing on then was how close he was. She would think back later and come to realize that it was because the only thing making her tears stop and giving her the will not to commit a murder was the prospect of approval she would get from a man like him. From someone who could never understand her struggle, someone who never tried to or tried to make her feel as though there was some way out. From someone who wanted to build on it and show her the strength she could find within it.

Realistically, she knew he would have a few words for her if she ever outwardly admitted to him that she used approval as a means for bettering herself, but it was the best she could do at the time being.

Charles’ brows furrowed as he watched her face, spaced out and regarding him with an expression not even he could read. Somewhere deep down, though, he knew he had gotten through to her. His lips curled up slightly, speaking lowly with amusement evident in his voice, “Now where did you go?”

Her eyes shot from his lips to his eyes once more. As quick as they made eye contact, she leaned forward to press her lips against his. Lips soft, she kissed him carefully, one hand moving to cup his face. Only in the last few moments did he respond to it by kissing back.

She pulled away, looking at him nervously and letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in. Her mouth was dry again. “I’m sorry-”

She was cut off by Charles’ lips on hers once more. She kissed back instantly, sighing into the kiss in content. Feeling Charles smirk against her lips and deepen the kiss, she put both hands behind his neck, pulling his body closer to hers. He took her lower lip between his teeth, pulling slightly as he let his hands trail down her body to her waist, pulling her to make sure there wasn’t the slightest gap between their bodies.

Their lips broke apart, but only long enough to allow for a quick breath. Charles pushed his lips back into hers as her hands snaked down to the collar of his dress shirt, playing carefully with the top button.

Eventually, their lips broke apart as they caught their breath. Bodies still pressed together, Charles leant forward to rest his forehead onto hers, her eyes still close, for a moment before pressing a kiss to it. He placed his chin on top of her head and rested there, her head resting against the crook of his neck as she felt him - anticipating what it would feel like to feel nothing but him.

#x-men #x-men first class #x-men days of future past #x-men apocalypse #x-men dark phoenix #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier imagine #charles xavier one-shot #x-men imagine #x-men one-shot #charles xavier #erik lensherr #raven #mystique #sean #angel #hank mccoy #james mcavoy #michael fassbender

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lockefanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Business Trip: Part 39 - For You

Author’s Note: please read the entire thing before sending me hate mail :P

Your eyes still worked, at least.

A part of you hoped that blinking would make it all go away. Would turn the terror of the past few moments into nothing more than a fleeting vision, a horrible nightmare from which you would soon wake. But no matter how many times you blinked, the scene in front of you stubbornly refused to disappear.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The seconds became minutes, the minutes became hours. Later you would learn that everything that happened, from the first gunshot to the moment the authorities and paramedics arrived all occurred within just a few minutes. But it felt much longer. It felt like forever.

Your first instinct is to look down at yourself, bringing your hands to your chest, searching for a wound that you thankfully would never find. You’d heard all the stories and seen the scenes in movies and TV shows - of people being shot but not quite knowing it, their brains blocking out the pain until it was much too late. Your hands search your torso, afraid you’d find the sticky wetness of your own blood - but your search is thankfully in vain.

Your eyes find Momo, perhaps out of instinct, out of some need or desire to ensure she was okay. The blue of her cropped t-shirt seemed so vibrant, oddly bright, as though your eyes were seeing it for the first time. You reach out to her, and even though she is standing only a few feet away it seemed like you would never reach her. She seemed so far. So distant. Your right hand reaches out to her, but your arm moves painfully slowly, as though you are moving underwater.

When your fingers finally touch her some indeterminate amount of time later and wrap themselves around her upper arm, it takes your brain a moment to register the sensations of doing so - the soft cotton against your palm, and the flesh and bone beneath that.

To say she was shaken was an understatement - mouth agape but not speaking, eyes wide open but seeing nothing; brain processing the data provided to her by her senses but understanding none of it.

You give her a scan from head to toe, eyes working frantically, hoping with all your soul that you would find no horrific injury, no blossom of red that would indicate a grim fate for the young woman. But she seemed okay, uninjured and in one piece, if one were to ignore the shock and paralysis the gunshots had mercilessly placed on her senses.

You are suddenly aware of the high pitched tone in your ear, a single, shrill, unending tone playing a song with only one note. You give your head a shake to try and rid yourself of it, but it carried on, heedless of your desires, selfishly determined to drown out any other sounds that could vie for your attention.

When you speak, your words, and hers, sound distant, as though spoken by a faraway person, in a language you didn’t understand, and much, much too quietly. The loud tone smothers it all, forcing you to struggle to hear every syllable.

“Momo, Momo!”

“She… Th… they-” she stutters, brain unable to comprehend what had just occurred, much less find the words to describe it.

“Momo! Momo, you’re okay you’re fine I’m okay too let’s go-” you manage to say, the syllables leaving your mouth in an uncontrolled spill of sounds. Enunciation was a foreign concept; something that only existed in a world where gunshots did not. Simpler, easier, peaceful times - times when you had full control over yourself and your senses.

It takes you a moment to realize that Momo’s eyes are locked on the floor - and the two bodies lying on it in crumpled, fallen heaps.

One of them is Nayeon, lying on her side, as though she has decided to take a nap, right there on the floor. What a silly thing to do-

Nayeon!

You move as fast as you can towards her, but as with Momo she seems so far away, so distant, when in reality she was no more than a few steps from you. But your senses have been skewed, your ability to gauge time and distance right along with them.

When you finally reach her your eyes look over her crumpled form, searching, fearing the worst. Your brain runs at a million miles a second, wondering how you could possibly treat a gunshot wound, how you could possibly stop the bleeding, how you could possibly keep her from-

Nayeon coughs, a dirty, wet sound. But she manages to speak.

“Fucking bitch shot me!”

You would have laughed if it weren’t so serious, if mere milliseconds before you weren’t fearing that she was dead or dying. Her hands clutch her chest, closing around a small tear in the dark blue of her kevlar vest.

You begin to tear the thing off her, fingers and hands working at velcro straps, fearing that the vest was providing only a temporary cover for the true damage beneath. Your fingers close around the edge of the vest’s front panel, fearing what you might see when you lift it off her small, suddenly fragile looking torso.

But there is nothing there - no bright splash of red, no crimson stain. Only the white t-shirt she wore beneath, matted to her chest with sweat. You place your hand on her side, where the bullet would have impacted, had effectiveness of modern protective equipment not kept her from experiencing the effectiveness of modern weaponry.

“Fuck!” she swears again at your touch, the curse word suddenly very close, very near to you, no longer so distant or far away. Perhaps your senses were slowly returning, shocked into recovery by Nayeon’s foul language. The pain was good, and the cursing was better - it meant she was alive, and in coherent enough condition to speak.

“Arrrgh!” comes another pained grunt to your right - and your eyes tear themselves from the pained grimace on Nayeon’s face to find Jihyo, slumped against the living room’s couch. Somewhere along the way she had managed to get on her knees and tear her own vest open. She reaches inside its folds, pressing her palm against her midsection and feeling the space where the bullet impacted against her body - but when she retrieves her hand it is blessedly free from any blood.

Her chest heaves, struggling to gulp down air into lungs empty of it. On the ground next to you, Nayeon does the same, her features contorted in pain as she struggles to rise. Both of them were knocked off their feet by the shots, but both were still breathing, and both were still alive.

Jihyo is reaching for her fallen pistol on the ground. She gets up to one foot as she makes an effort to stand, but it proves too much for her, and she falls again to her knees. She reaches for the radio at her belt, and she begins to speak as clearly as she could into it, presumably to a police channel, to report what had just occurred. Every syllable sounds pained, full of stress, as though each word took enormous amounts of effort to form and speak.

“We need- fuck! Get her… Fuck!” Nayeon says, stirring on the ground, turning as best she could until she too is on her knees. She reaches for her own pistol, fallen a few feet away from her, but when she stretches out her arm she groans in pain and clutches her side.

“Stop fucking moving,” you scold her, your words sounding a little more harsh than you were expecting, but knowing that she was injured and was risking making it worse by moving.

“She’s still… fucking out there,” Nayeon hisses, “the girls… downstairs-”

“Fuck,” you hiss, catching on to what she was implying. You turn to Momo, who was still standing there frozen, not having moved an inch. Her face is an expressionless, unmoving mask, lips still ajar, eyes still wide open.

“Momo! Momo!” you say, trying only half-successfully to reach the young woman, “Momo!”

“Y-yes?” she answers, finally, her neutral tone seemingly out of place given the circumstances - although she is still a little bit in shock, and it was all she could do to even comprehend you, let alone manufacture the words to provide a response.

“You need to get on the radio and tell the girls downstairs to watch out for Seulgi - tell them she’s armed and-”

Another loud crack, diminished somewhat by distance, but no less demanding, no less completely overwhelming to you and everyone else in the room. Another demand on your senses. Another temporary, momentary paralysis.

Another gunshot.

---

You weren’t quite sure where you found the speed, or the energy, to get downstairs as fast as you could. You realized, later, how stupid of a thing it was to do - running, unarmed, into a possible confrontation with someone who was very much armed.

You had thought that you had finally regained your senses by the time you’d reached the parking garage beneath the apartment. Time was beginning to move at a normal pace again. Your eyes and ears had caught up and recovered. Perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through your veins that convinced you you were ready for whatever it was that awaited you. Perhaps it was the knowledge that more of your team members were downstairs, in Seulgi’s path, and that you needed to do something to protect them, or at least warn them, of what was headed their way.

You were ready, you thought, for whatever came your way.

But when you find Jeongyeon slumped against the wheel of a nearby car, Chaeyoung clutching a bloodied bandage to the older girl’s side - you realized that you weren’t at all ready.

---

“Jesus Christ,” you swear, the words once again sounding distant, far off. Time had begun to slow again, and everyone and everything moved and sounded, again, as though it was underwater. “What the fuck happened?”

Jeongyeon’s eyes flutter open, thankfully, and her lips move - but she doesn’t speak. Chaeyoung, as frantic and as frazzled as you have ever seen her, doesn’t respond either, preoccupied with keeping her hands pressed against the bandage on the left side of Jeongyeon’s torso, beneath her ribs.

“Oh my god-” comes a voice from behind you, and you tear your eyes from Jeongyeon’s pale face to realize it is Sana, having just arrived at the scene.

“Sana!” you hiss, “get us a fucking ambulance!”

“I… I’m fine, boss,” Jeongyeon manages to say through trembling lips, “It’s fine, I just need, gimme five minutes, I-”

“Stop talking,” you snap, bringing your right hand on top of Chaeyoung’s, pressed against Jeongyeon’s side. The white bandage beneath is stained bright crimson. It has begun to leak over Chaeyoung’s slim fingers, and after awhile you begin to feel the warm liquid on your palm as well.

“She- she shot her,” Chaeyoung says.

“Who, Seulgi?”

“Yeri! It was fucking Yeri. The bitch had a gun and when she heard the shots come out of the apartment she pulled it on me,” the words stumbling out of the girl’s mouth in a tumble. “She made me get out of the van and she came around back to get Jeongyeon out-”

“I thought I could take her, boss,” Jeongyeon mumbles, a slim smile appearing at her lips. Her face starts to pale, sweat forming on her forehead in heavy drops as she begins to go into shock. You reach out and press your left palm against her cheek, cradling her face as it slumps against her shoulder. You smile as best you can, although you can feel your lips tremble and your eyes water.

A thousand thoughts run through your head - none of them pleasant, none of them welcome.

“They fought and the gun went off,” Chaeyoung continues, her voice sounding quieter and quieter. She continues to talk, in a rushed and hurried tone, but the words don’t register in your brain. The only thing that exists in that moment is Jeongyeon’s glassy eyes, the softness of her cheek in your palm, and the warmth of the thick liquid seeping between your fingers.

“The ambulance is on the way!” Sana says, from somewhere distant. Your sense of sound has begun to dull, Sana and Chaeyoung’s frantic words registering as far off sounds, incomprehensible, dulled, fading away into nothingness.

“Did… did you-” Jeongyeon mumbles, the words leaving her lips in thin, airy sounds as she gasps for each breath. Her hand reaches up to yours, pressed against her cheek, damp with her sweat. With trembling fingers she searches for and finds the bracelet on your wrist.

When she finds it, a slim smile appears on her lips before her hand falls away and her eyes close, a single tear falling down her cheek.

---

One month later

---

“I’m just nervous about it, that’s all, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ anymore, Dahyun. And what do you have to be nervous about?” you answer, looking over at the plane seat next to you, where the young Korean girl is trying her best to figure out a complex looking program that looked, to you, a little bit like the scrolling green text from The Matrix. After some deliberation and with the other team members already having their own areas of responsibility, it was decided that Dahyun would take over the technical requirements of your team in addition to her duties as your executive assistant.

The rest of the team had gone ahead on a slightly earlier flight with Momo and your equipment. You had to stay behind for a few hours to make final arrangements and say your farewells before you and Dahyun hopped on a flight.

“Unnie was so good at all this technical stuff. She operated all those laptops and screens and stuff like it was second nature. She could hack into a server using a paperclip and a peanut. What if I fuck something up?”

“You’ll be fine, Dahyun. You’re the most technologically inclined out of all of us. I can barely sync my iPhone to my computer without somehow deleting half my music.”

The young woman giggles softly - a rare sight over the past few weeks, for any of you. But her worries quickly return, manifesting itself in a sad smirk on her face.

“I’ll do my best. I just wish she were here with us.”

“Me too,” you say softly, your fingers moving unconsciously to touch the bracelet on your wrist. You lean back in the plane seat, hoping to catch an hour or two of sleep before landing.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on Seulgi and Yeri. For her.”

“For her,” you repeat.

---

When you open your eyes the first thing you are aware of is Dahyun’s face, staring back at you.

“Can I help you, Dahyun?” you mumble, trying your best to rub the sleepiness from your eyes.

“Mmm, I just can’t sleep, sir-” she says, catching herself and replacing the honorific with your name.

“Why is that?”

“I’ve been thinking, mostly. Of her. And of the last time we were together. With Miss Miyoui. In the locker room…”

You let a small smile appear at the corners of your lips as you remember the little four person liaison you’d enjoyed with Dahyun in the locker room of the JYP offices. It seemed like forever ago now.

“I recall that you like to watch and observe those… meetings, Dahyun.”

“I do.”

“Shame there’s no one here to record us-”

“There doesn’t need to be someone recording, ” the girl replies, her tone suddenly as sultry and seductive as you’d ever seen; something you didn’t know she were capable of. “As long as I get to watch.”

You weren’t sure how ready you were for what would be the first solo intimate interaction with your executive assistant, especially given the events of the last few weeks. But part of you also knew that a brief respite from all the heavy emotion and sadness that had overcome your lives over the past little while was welcome. As you look over at Dahyun, sitting on her side in her seat, you find a similar emotion in her eyes.

You watch as she gazes towards the end of the plane’s aisle, and the light that indicated a vacant washroom. She playfully adjusts the large framed glasses she is wearing, and she smiles, shyly, before rising from her seat.

Instead of waiting for you to make room for her legs to pass by, she straddles you suddenly in the plane seat, swinging one of her legs over until she is sitting in your lap for a brief moment, her wide hips and firm thighs resting on your crotch. Then, before you knew what was happening, she swings her other leg over until she is in the aisle. Knowing your eyes are locked to the swinging of her wide hips, she heads towards the bathroom at the end of the aisle.

You let a few moments pass before you join her.

---

There wasn’t a lot of room in the cramped airplane washroom for one person, let alone for two. But you found no reason to complain, so long as there was enough room for Dahyun to watch her reflection in the mirror as you stand behind her and slowly unbutton the flower-patterned cardigan she is wearing.

The look on her face, reflected in the small mirror, is absolutely enrapturing. For so long you’d dismissed her as a clumsy, if kind-hearted, colleague - and nothing more. Even when she’d joined you in a more intimate environment she’d expressed more interest in watching the sex unfold rather than being an active participant; although you’d be lying if you hadn’t had reminisced more than once about the way she touched herself while she watched you fuck one of her colleagues, or the lewd enthusiasm with which she cleaned a recently fucked pussy, slurping and licking your fresh cum from a dripping hole.

As you finally finish unbuttoning her cardigan and pulling its folds apart to reveal her full, round breasts, you wonder just why the hell it’d taken you so long to take this step.

Dahyun gasps in pleasure as you raise your hands and cup her breasts for the first time, squeezing the firm mounds softly, relishing in the feel of her tight nipples between your fingers. You were surprised by how endowed she was - she’d done a good job of hiding her perfect hourglass figure beneath loose jackets and skirts in the office.

You plant soft kisses on her neck, your eyes looking up at the mirror to watch her eyes glaze over in pleasure as you have her way with her chest for the first time. It surprises you to see her hands working at the button of her jeans, quickly unzipping them and pushing them down her wide hips, revealing a cleanly shaven mound and a delicious looking gap between her full thighs.

All the while her eyes are locked on her own reflection in the mirror, eyes half-lidded in pleasure behind those large-framed glasses of hers; glasses that lent her an air of innocence that deliciously juxtaposed with the filth that was leaving her mouth.

“Mmm, do me n-now, sir. Quickly, p-please. I-I can suck y-your c-cock later, a-and you can d-do whatever you want t-to me. But right now I just… I just want it inside me!”

“What was that, Miss Kim?” you ask, your lips drawn close to her ear, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair on your face.

“F-fuck… fuck me n-now, sir!”

You smile, devilishly, as Dahyun begins to stutter her words, the same way she did whenever she was turned on. You lick your lips, the smile widening, as you undo your pants and pull them down your legs, allowing your stiff cock to spring free. You press yourself against the quivering girl’s frame, pressing your hot shaft against the small of her back.

Dahyun lets a soft, wordless moan of pleasure escape her lips. You return your hands to her breasts, capturing her nipples this time in your fingertips, teasing and twisting the stiff little buds until her eyes finally shut involuntarily with pleasure; but Dahyun quickly forces them open, forces herself to watch her image in the mirror as you play with her body.

“P-please, sir, fu-fuck me now! Put.. put y-your b-big cock in-inside me!”

“You’ve wanted this for so long, haven’t you, Dahyun? All this time, watching me fuck those other girls, knowing you wanted this cock inside you too?”

“Y-yes, sir! Ch-Choa unnie said you… you f-fucked her so g-good. I… I-I want you to f-fuck me too!”

The idea of Choa relating your exploits to her replacement was a thought too delicious to ignore. Releasing Dahyun’s breasts from your grasp, you reach down with your right hand and grasp your shaft, pressing down on her upper back with your other palm until she is bent over the washroom sink. You take a moment to enjoy the feel of her hot, dripping lips on the head of your cock before you thrust your hips forward and slip inside her pussy, penetrating her for the first time.

Dahyun moans loudly as she is filled with your cock; so loud you are afraid for a moment that someone outside in the plane cabin could hear you. You immediately cover her mouth with your right hand, but all you can do is partially muffle the chorus of moans and gasps that begin to leave her throat as you begin to fuck her, your cock quickly easing into a slow but firm pace, sliding in and out of her wet, tight little pussy as best you could in the cramped airplane washroom.

It was the relief from the pain and heartache of the past few weeks, you knew, that drove you to fuck Kim Dahyun’s mewling, quivering body with a rough speed and pace that surprised you. The past few weeks were some of the hardest in your life, and the brief respite that this little liaison provided you was too tempting to ignore. There was some relief to be found in Dahyun, and some solace in the pleasure quickly building up in your loins. Her body’s reactions indicated that she had no qualms with the way you were taking her; quite the opposite, in fact, if the dripping wetness of her tightly squeezing pussy were any indication.

Your hand tightens around her mouth even as the volume of her muffled moans increases. A minute or so passes as you fuck her roughly against the sink, neither of you doing much to delay or prolong the pleasure building within your bodies. It doesn’t take her long to cum in your arms, her eyes rolling to the back of her head in pleasure as you fuck her into and through her orgasm, her pussy tightening and pulsating around you deliciously.

Satisfied that she was winding down from her orgasm and could control her volume, your hand leaves her mouth, travelling down the pale, perfect vanilla skin of her upper chest to fondle a firm, round breast. You watch, enraptured, as her full mounds bounce with each thrust of your hips against the perfect hourglass shape of her bent body. You squeeze her firm hip with your free hand, enjoying the sight of her round butt taking each thrust between them as you hammer in and out of her pussy.

You feel your orgasm approaching, and you do little to fight it. You knew what this was from the beginning - an impromptu quickie, a brief escape, a temporary respite from the pain and sadness of the past few weeks. And you didn’t feel any desire to delay the pleasure that you so desperately needed.

“I’m going to fucking cum inside you, Dahyun,” you hiss into her ear, the words more threatening than perhaps you truly desired.

“Y-yes, please, sir, p-please - F-fill me up! P-please, sir, cum in me!” she gasps in return - your tone not threatening her as you’d feared, but instead arousing her even further.

Satisfied that she was more than willing to take it, you delay your peak no longer. With one last thrust you push yourself as deep inside Kim Dahyun’s tightly grasping pussy as you could before your orgasm overtakes you and you send stream after stream of hot, thick semen deep inside her body.

It seems to last forever - as if the pent up emotions of the past few weeks were releasing themselves, at least temporarily, with each rope of cum that you sent straight from your spurting cock to splash deep into her hot wet depths. When it is all over you slump forward, bracing yourself against the sink, trapping Dahyun’s small frame against it.

You find yourself breathing heavily with a sudden exhaustion, as if all the physical demands of the past few weeks had suddenly chosen that moment to tax themselves on you.

It felt as though Dahyun’s small form, filled to the brim with your warm, fresh cum and still stuffed with your slowly softening cock, was the only thing keeping you from collapsing with exhaustion. She was clearly open to having a physical relationship with you, given her participation in at least two of your other liaisons; but you knew right then and there that she likely initiated this because she knew you needed a blissful, if temporary, relief from the weights the past few weeks had put on your shoulders.

“Thank you, Dahyun,” you whisper gently into her ear.

“Anything for you, sir,” she replies, finally turning her gaze from her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes close and she lets you hold her close for a moment more as you try to find comfort in the warmth of her body.

---

It felt like a lifetime ago when you stepped off the plane in Tokyo, Momo by your side, for the three day business meeting that had set all of the past year’s events in motion. So much had happened since then. You’d crossed paths with so many people, experienced so many things that would stay with you for the rest of your life. The version of you that stepped off the plane today was so far removed from the version of you that stepped off the plane so many months ago. That person would have seen you as a stranger.

One thing remained the same - Hirai Momo, standing impatiently outside the terminal next to a large stack of plastic containers that held your team’s gear. Next to her are Mina and Tzuyu, checking over the contents of an opened equipment bin. Standing a few feet away, conferring with each other over something on an iPad, are Nayeon and Jihyo.

A white pickup truck and a blue van pull up to the curb. Chaeyoung hops out of the driver seat of the truck, and Sana out of the van. Together the girls start loading your gear and equipment into the bed of the pickup.

Dahyun leaves your side to help the girls load the truck. Momo greets you as you approach.

“Tokyo e yōkoso,” she says, a bright but determined smile on her face that you return with one of your own. “Everything is accounted for and the team is ready to go, boss.”

“Let’s roll.”

“For her,” she says as she leans over and grabs one end of a plastic bin, motioning for you to take the other end.

“For her,” you repeat.

---

One month earlier

---

It all registered as blurs to you. Blurs of movement, blurs of sound. You see and hear it all, but register none of it.

You weren’t quite sure how you got to the waiting area outside the hospital’s operation room, nor how much time had passed since the events at Red Velvet’s apartment. The people around you buzz like bees, speaking in what were probably frantic, quick bursts - although to you they register as a dull, characterless drone, the way a voice does on TV when put through one of those machines meant to conceal the speaker’s identity.

At some point Mr. Park - JYP - shows up, finding you and clutching your shoulder with a firm hand the way a comforting father would. He takes a knee in front of your seat, staring you right in the eye as he speaks what you would assume to be words of comfort and reassurance - even if you can’t make sense of, much less remember, what he is saying. He brings you close for a hug - unexpected, but not unwelcome - before he rushes off to speak to a nearby nurse.

Others are there too - Mina, Seolhyun, Sana, Dahyun, Tzuyu, Chaeyoung - and Jihyo, her torso wrapped up with bandages. At some point she tells you Nayeon is being treated for a fractured rib, but is otherwise okay. She tells you that there’s no sign of Seulgi or Yeri, nor any idea where they’ve taken Irene, although the entirety of the city’s law enforcement is now looking for them. She is speaking in hushed tones with JYP and what you assume to be two other detectives.

The other girls take it in turn to comfort you, each in their own way and with varying levels of coherency. Mina and Seolhyun keep it together the best, comforting you and the others with hugs and assurances that everything was going to work out. The others are too overcome with emotion to do anything more than sob into your chest before one of the others - Mina, more often than not - comes to pry them away.

Throughout it all you are aware of only two things - the feel of Momo’s hand, clutching yours, and the glowing red sign above the operating room door that tells you it is in use. She never leaves your side. The sign never stops glowing red.

At some point, long after the sun has gone down, the red sign turns off, and a tired, weary looking doctor emerges from the doors.

---

“Bring me my Switch, boss. And a fucking cheeseburger.”

They’re the first words you hear from Jeongyeon, five days after the events at Red Velvet’s apartment. You had to remind yourself you were in a hospital, lest you find yourself swearing loudly at the girl.

“You’re insane, Yoo Jeongyeon.”

Jeongyeon winks, offering you a smile, before opening her arms.

“Shut up and come here,” she says, before you lean forward and embrace her as best you could given her hospital bed and her half-seated position. As you hug she grunts a little bit in pain.

“I guess no doggy style for awhile, boss. You’ll have to do all the work. I think I can still lie here and spread my-”

“Jesus Christ, Jeongyeon,” you say, half-laughing, half exasperated at the idea that a girl recovering from a gunshot wound could so easily be cracking lewd jokes. You take a moment to relish in the sight of her pale, but still vibrant face as she lies back in her bed, a soft smile on her lips.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” you ask, desperate to know what could have driven her to act so recklessly.

“I dunno, she was so tiny. I thought I could take her out. I had the jump on her when she opened the van doors, but I guess her finger slipped or something while we fought, and the gun went off.”

“Jesus, Jeongyeon, she had a fucking gun. She didn’t shoot Chaeyoung. She just wanted the van for their getaway. You should’ve just let her have it. Chaeyoung says she even freaked out a little bit after she shot you.”

“It was definitely an accident - or so I think. She stuck around long enough to grab a bandage from the first aid kit and show Chaeyoung how to use it. Thankfully she had shitty aim. Or I made my saving throw, I guess? Bullet managed to miss all my organs.”

“It might’ve been a different story if the shot went a few inches in a different direction. Why did you do it?”

Jeongyeon looks down at her hands in her lap, picking away at what was left of her bright green nail polish as she tries to find the right words.

“I wanted to prove to myself - and to you guys - that I could actually do something. You, Momo, Sana, those two cops; you’re always out there in the field, kicking ass and taking names. I’m always in the van working the fucking keyboards and staring at a screen. I wanted some of the action.”

“I don’t believe that. You tackled a girl with a gun, just so you could feel like a badass?”

“I thought I could take her, okay? I tried to use tackle, but it wasn’t very effective. It turns out Jeongyeon-type is weak against gunshot-type attacks.”

You both share an exasperated laugh.

“That’s only half the reason, anyway,” she continues. “After I heard the gunshots I thought I might need a gun. Y’know, in case…”

“In case what?”

“In case you were in danger.”

You sigh and bury your face in your hands, exasperated at the idea that Jeongyeon had risked her life - yet again - for you, even if her actions were a foolhardy gamble at best and a potentially fatal mistake at worst.

“Jeongyeon, you jumping armed people for me is the last thing I want.”

“I know, I know. It’s just - when I heard those shots go off I was afraid something had happened to you. I knew I had to get to you. And she was in my way.”

You are unable to find the right words to reply to her, and you settle instead for finding her left hand and cradling it in yours, rubbing her knuckles idly with your thumbs.

“I’ll make sure she pays for it. Her, Seulgi, even Irene, eventually. I swear it. I’ll get them. For you.”

Jeongyeon smiles - a warm, sincere smile full of affection.

“Just give me a couple of days and I’ll be good to go, boss. I just need-”

“No,” you interrupt, “I’ll get them. I didn’t say ‘we’.”

Jeongyeon is at a momentary loss for words. Then her brow furrows, and you ready yourself for the barrage of pushback she was about to unleash.

“Boss, I-”

“No, Jeongyeon. You’re staying here to recover. Seolhyun runs the Seoul office, but she’ll be looking after you. We’re going after them while you rest up.”

“What do you mean, staying here? At least give me a laptop, I can still do my job from a hospital bed. I dunno if you know, but they have pretty good wi-fi in this country.”

“That won’t help if the rest of us are leaving the country.”

“I can go-”

“No, Jeongyeon. You’re staying here. I’m not sure if you noticed, but you have a fucking gunshot wound. Your only concern now is recovery. You’re staying. That’s final.”

The girl lets a grunt of disapproval leave her lips. For a second she tries to cross her arms, but gives up when the movement causes a sharp spike of pain to shoot up her side.

“At least tell me where you’re going,” she hisses, through gritted teeth.

“Jihyo says it’s likely Seulgi and Yeri have left the country. We have them on CCTV at the airport, boarding a plane to Japan. They looked like they were taking Irene with them against her will.”

“That bitch’s days are numbered. Seulgi looked like she wanted to tear her head off.”

“Regardless, we need to go after them. We’re leaving soon.”

Jeongyeon seems upset with the prospect of staying in Korea, but you take the long sigh that she gives you as a sign that she has finally accepted your decision. When she looks over at you again her eyes are soft and glassy, filled with tears and words she wanted to say but couldn’t.

She squeezes your hand in hers, and the two of you sit there in silence for awhile with soft smiles on your lips. The prospect of parting with Yoo Jeongyeon and leaving her behind was a painful one to bear.

“Go get them for me,” she says, softly.

“I will,” you promise. “For you.”

---

Author’s Note: Please don’t hate me :P

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #pov smut #twice #twice dahyun #Kim dahyun

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dreampeople · 3 years ago

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We’ll Come Back To This Later - a drabble

synopsis: ravi and mina reminisce during a quick trip to the convenience store.

words: 1.8k

read under the cut:

It was afternoon—aggressively afternoon, to Mina’s discomfort. An amber overcast hung in the room, the brightness of the oncoming dusk worsening her screen-induced headache, coating the walls in a dark, ugly brown color. The house had been unlively all weekend. Mina somehow managed to make being curled up on the couch on her phone under a blanket the core of her day, drifting in and out of naps as an intermission, and now the anxiousness she’d been able to suppress from the morning came creeping back up her stomach and into her throat, making her queasy. She prayed for a thump, a crash, a holler—for any cause to direct her restlessness towards. She was answered with a trail of footsteps coming from the end of the hallway, footsteps she immediately recognized as Ravi’s. His steps had weight, a clunk to them, and she could hear keys jingling somewhere on him, a melody she’d lately become quite familiar with. It meant he had somewhere to be. He had no time anymore for his steps to be soft, muffled by socks and dragging pajama pants, to be eager and willing to waste the day along with her like they used to. After all, being a college student was a great responsibility. He had much greater goals to pursue than correctly predicting the outcome of some contrived competition show or seeing how many shortbread cookies they could eat before one of them got sick. He’d just been way too busy for any of that anymore, for her, she thought.

Unbeknownst to her, Ravi had picked up on a shift in her own nature too. He’d noticed that he was now able to spend an evening alone in his room without her coming in to assert her presence, completely unprovoked. Whenever he saw her she looked pensive and uneasy. Instead of letting anything and everything she’d thought or felt throughout the day fall out of her mouth whenever Ravi seemed to her, ready to listen, she now barely said anything.

When she’d first moved in with him and his mom, her Aunt Reese, they were both tiny, stout and sticky little kids, both wary and hesitant to give way to being in each other’s space. The awkward period of adjustment was made easy because of Ravi. All it took was one kind gesture from him and she was stuck to him like wet taffy, and despite the expected begrudging of a nine-year-old boy whose main focus was to be cool, he still let her. Soon enough he did it without any grief, and for a while they were close, having composed a rhythm between one another that worked perfectly for them. But for the past few months she felt like the world had been spinning backwards, except now she felt even more unfamiliar around him than she did before.

Though she’d gotten the action she wanted, as Ravi approached she remained frozen underneath her blanket, scrolling through social media posts she’d already seen hours ago. She heard his clunking and jingling stop somewhere across from her near the kitchen.

“Hey,” she heard him call to her. She feigned sleepiness, clumsily sitting up and dramatically squinting her eyes against the invading sunset, then at him.

“I’m going to the store, did you wanna come?”

“Huh?” she made her voice a little hoarse, pretending to not have heard him. Ravi fought against rolling his eyes.

“I said I’m going to the store. Do you wanna come?” he enunciated, fishing out the keys in his pocket. Mina’s eyes filled out as she quickly shook off her “sleep”, gently swinging her feet from the couch to the floor.

“Yeah, sure,” she hid the long awaited relief in her face by staring at the floor. Ravi nodded and headed out the door, expecting Mina to follow. She hurried from the couch, sliding on a pair of makeshift slippers from the pool of shoes left by the door, the heels of what used to be sneakers welded down partly for easy access, and partly as a result of Mina’s laziness. Out the door she was faced immediately with the burning, setting sun, Ravi’s form eclipsing. She heard more unplaced jingling as another form blackened by the sun’s shadow flew into her field of vision, nearly hitting her in the face if she hadn’t caught it.

“Lock the door,” Ravi said.

“You almost fucking hit me,” Mina did as she was told. She skittered down the porch steps to catch up with him as he started down the road without her.

“You’re not driving?”

“I just meant the corner store,”

“Oh.”

The neighborhood looked like a savanna. Houses, street signs, and trees were all plastered black against an orange sky. Mina felt a hundred lengths shorter than Ravi while walking next to him, him providing the perfect protection and coolness underneath his shade. When Mina thought of being younger, this is what was usually in her head. The outside, the pavement slowly scrolling underneath her feet, and Ravi somewhere in her periphery. Jun was usually there too. An excited buzzing in her belly. No aim, no plan, no destination, but somehow their day always ended up being full. She tried not to think about how different it felt standing next to him now, how much faster he seemed to walk, how much greater an indent his steps seemed to make. Maybe it was all in her head, she thought. She felt like a fly that had latched onto his arm unnoticed.

It was quiet between them for a long time aside from the crunching of loose asphalt and the occasional passing car. The constant birring of someone cutting their grass baselined their silence. The sort of desperate panic that she often felt when trying to keep a conversation with someone, when trying to keep someone interested, when trying not to upset someone, rose up in her, a feeling she never recalled ever having felt around Ravi. Instead of saying anything her jaw clenched tighter.

Ravi inhaled through his nose and turned, looking her up and down.

“How did your shoes end up like that?” he asked, the corners of his mouth edging toward his ears.

“What?” Her head swung from one side of her body to the other and she kicked a heel up, a shoe nearly flying off. She smacked her lips.

“It’s more comfortable,”

He looked her up and down again, at the dingy t-shirt that was swallowing her upper half and the childish pajama bottoms she’d been wearing since the night before, and strands of hair that were crossed every which way into some kind of up-do, grinning wider.

“You look unloved, Mina,” he dramaticized, trying to make it clear he was joking.

“Wow, can you leave me alone, maybe?” Mina smiled, Ravi’s laughter easing her a little. Normally him laughing at her was one of the things that agitated her the easiest.

“Why are you fully dressed for the corner store anyway?” Genuinely, she wanted to know. It was the first time she’d been honest with him in a while. He got quiet, watching his shadow float with him. She could feel him slowing down to match her pace.

“I was gonna go see Jun later,”

“All that for Jun?” she thought but didn’t say.

“It’s just Jun,” she grinned up at him, softening her delivery. Ravi responded with another laugh, this time in the way that irritated her, like there was something he knew that she didn’t. They were a block away from the store now, and the light around them began to fade. The silence between them returned for the next block.

“Aye,”

Mina’s brows jumped closer together, startled by his breaking. Her face was all balled up, and she looked both really focused and really confused, staring at her feet again.

“Have you been alright?” He finished without looking at her.

“Me?” Mina responded, louder than she meant to. The strange kick in her voice caught Ravi’s attention, and he looked down at her, chuckling a little.

“Yeah, you,”

“Yeah, man,” she sounded like a puppy whose paw had been stepped on. Ravi knew how hot it got her when he laughed at her, and normally he would anyways just to see her get that mad, but this time he refrained.

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he stuck his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “You just seem a little different lately,”

Mina thought of being younger again. She remembered that weird period of adjustment again, facing unknowns and being unknown. Though she was known at home, being out in the world was an entirely different giant. She remembered the distance between herself and others—between herself and everything. She remembered her heart’s relentless throbbing in her throat, how the eyes of everyone around her clung like velcro, being able to feel the wind’s slightest shift in direction against her goosebumps and how uneasy it would make her. She remembered one day in particular, her mouth and throat sticky and clogged with the words she’d held throughout the entirety of it, waiting to walk home with Ravi, to finally end it. She remembered watching buses and cars and other kids pass, and Ravi still not being there. She remembered seeing the sun set far sooner than she usually would, the wind, the tears welling up in her eyes, and Ravi’s cloudy figure finally appearing behind them, his concern, her relief, and her shame.

By the time they reached the store the street lights were on, along with the colorful fluorescence of neon signs shining behind every window, illuminating the walls of ads, party promotions, help wanted signs, and missing person posters that hid the white shining from inside of the store. Air conditioning collided with the summer heat they brought in with them. Mina trailed off into the candy aisle, grabbing a pack of sour straws, the kind covered in sugar specs and that always got stuck in her teeth, and a sports drink from the front of the aisle for her headache. She watched as Ravi grabbed a bag of jalapeno chips, a cookies-and-cream chocolate bar, and a tall can of lemon tea, just like he always did, then a box of saltines and a bottle of gingerale. She felt herself wanting to get queasy but fought it.

“Can I get a separate bag for these two?” he motioned at the crackers and ginger ale to the store clerk. He paid for the both of them.

“How much do I owe you?” Mina asked on their way out. Ravi shook his head.

Mina expected they’d be heading straight home, but Ravi had claimed a piece of pavement on the side of the building. His tea cracked open with a quick, soft pop. Naturally, Mina settled beside him. They ended up talking through the dusk. The dark was cool and soothing on Mina’s eyes, the chill of night rushing in and blowing against them as they walked home. She welcomed its tinge on her face and skin. By the time they made it back, she realized her headache was gone.

#writeblr #my writing #black writers on tumblr #oc writing #my ocs #lgbtq writing #fiction #drabble #short story #mina #ravi

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adrieunor · 4 years ago

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the one where they’re married (1/?)

Fandom: The Good Place Rating: T Pairing: Michael & Eleanor Shellstrop (pseudo-Michael/Eleanor)

amnesia, married-but-not, possibly dub-con bc identity issues but nothing explicit; implied Michael reboot or judge reboot Notes: found this thing hanging out in my WIP and I don’t even remember writing it. but I had fun reading through what’s here, so I thought I’d go ahead and throw it out into the world.

Story summary: It didn’t quite top the discovery of waking up in a hospital bed with potential brain damage, but Eleanor is quite sure of one thing. She’s willing to stake money on it, no matter how out of character or divergent he is from her history:

this man is her husband.

Which, great – wow, whoa and every other questionable w-sound.

Hadn’t thought you had it in you girl, Eleanor thinks.

******************

Eleanor wakes up.

Correction: Eleanor tries.

One moment, it’s the nothingness of unconsciousness and then the sudden clarity of what’s happening? Where am I?— except her body feels like it hasn’t caught up to this decision.

She feels heavy.

All of her feels heavy. From the bottom of her feet to the crown of her head, it feels like every atom of her person has suddenly gained ten extra ounces of new weight. Not enough to be a hardship, individually, but combined together—she’s drowning, suffocated by her own eyelids and the thick, still air that doesn’t give any hint to where she seems to be.

Her eyes feel heavy – the stupid gelatinous orbs feel like they’re suspended in concrete, while her lids struggle to flutter awake.

(It’s a stupid expression, anyway, because it’s more hippos doing ballet than graceful ostriches with large feathered fans prancing across the imaginary stage of her mind.)

Fuck.

It hurts.

It feels good to be able to give a resounding f-bomb in her mind. She doesn’t know why it feels good, just that it does—it shouldn’t, though, since Eleanor has been saying fuck and other double-dog-dare-you words since she was in secondhand velcro shoes. She says “fuck” more times on the daily than her own name, certainly more times than “please” or “thank you.”

Ten seconds of consciousness has her registering how rattled her bones feel. Someone has either taken her brain and expanded it to be too big for her skull, or taken her skull and fractured it, hot gluing the pieces back to fit her brain but accidentally leaving a few behind.

“Eleanor? Are you awake?”

Trying to be.

Even in her mind, the words she wants to respond with feel slurred, fumbled by a dull tongue that’s trying to unstick from the roof of her mouth.

She’s not sure if the keening sound is just bubbling frustration and pain she’s creating in her head, or if she’s really making it. Eleanor wants to open her mouth and let her sad, animal crying out, but it seems, between the last time she was awake and now, someone’s affixed her jaw with lead, super glue, and the caramel they use to cover those cheap, green apple pops.

Eleanor settles for a whimper.

It’s the trembling of her bottom lip that makes her realize something’s brushing against her face, threaded across her nose and mouth and affixed by sticky tape on her cheeks.

Dry fingertips, warm and calloused, brush over her temple. The stray, lanky hair that had been plastered to her forehead, tickling her brow and her nose, is brushed back and tucked behind her ears.

“Hold on,” the same person says, and something clicks or beeps beside her ear. She hadn’t thought of her wrists and hands yet, had only registered them being as weighed down as the rest of her. Now, she’s minutely aware of the tender clasp around her left wrist – a dry, warm steadiness that makes her joints ache painfully.

Eleanor wants to wiggle, wants to shake, wants to fucking jerk her arms and legs about until everything pops back into feeling, but she can’t. Something from inside must be conveyed outside, some twitch or snarl of frustration, because the warm hand gently turns her wrist. Unfamiliar (familiar) fingers slide and brush against her pulse before settling into a new position: her own hand cradled in a larger one, while a thumb that’s not hers gently strokes the tops of her knuckles.

The next sound feels like a land mine detonated in a pocket of silence. A heavy door opens with the force of five hundred hangovers, followed by heels clicking sharply and smartly against a linoleum floor. Rustling fabric, a pen clicking, a folder being dropped down onto a table surface all has her wincing, as if it’s been amplified right by her fucking ear.

Her companion does not let go of her hand, but he grips it until his thumb is a firm, anxious pressure that presses on the space between her ring finger and pinky.

“Is she in pain? She looks—“

Eleanor doesn’t catch the rest of it, but the voice has only picked up in volume, a little, harried but direct. Whatever answer the new body has, she doesn't hear it.

Amidst the skull-splitting pain that pulsates from her crown down to the rest of her, like a tree suddenly struck by lighting, she registers only one thing: a dry press of lips against her fingers, solemn and unbearably present sensation, before she’s swarmed by other voices and sounds.

******************

Eleanor is only catching every fifth word that is coming out of the woman’s mouth. The ice chips had alleviated the fuzziness on her tongue, but it hadn’t fixed what was wrong in her head.

Her head.

Words like damage, injury, sustained bleeding,

The wailing in her ears had subsided, a bit, since the last time she was awake. It was now a low, thrumming pitch in the back of her mind, like a loud fluorescent light bulb in an office space. She can ignore it, after a while, but it’s there.

Other things that are very much there and present: the man.

******************

Her eyes drift towards his hand, the one that’s not holding her own – long fingers woven loosely to catch her own, between the gauze and IV line – where it rests on his knee. She's not sure what the glimmer is, at first, until she realizes it's two gold bands on one hand, a comically smaller one slipped onto his pinky.

“Ah,” her eyes drift back up of their own accord to watch the way his brows furrow, mouth open in thought, “I thought it’d be better if I kept it, in case the tests and the machines…”

His mouth purses into a thin line, which only emphasizes the ones carved into the corners of his mouth and his eyes even more – he looks like the type that would frown a lot, Eleanor thinks. He seemed like the bookish-type that would have resting bitch face while deep in thought; a heavy oak desk with a tiffany lamp and a pen tipped in gold wouldn’t be out of place in a room with him, or a really fancy fucking wall of degrees and a sharp suit.

Her shameless eyes stray towards his thin lips, the defined line of his jaw, skipping back to the worn crinkles in his skin.

There’s a lot of something to him that seems to command the presence of whatever space he occupies. The corner he occupies wraps around him like a well-tailored jacket – even in his unassuming navy and pale blue.

Well, she revises her thoughts; he looked like he might laugh a lot, too. Eleanor bets he laughs with his mouth wide open, or smiles to show nearly all his teeth.

He wasn’t laughing now, of course. Given the circumstances.

******************

He is a man-shaped absence in her memory – she of the forgetful faces and even more forgetful names has seemingly forgotten her own husband, spouse, and partner-- legally bound tax accomplice, all of the above. Michael.

He’s got a face made for

He does a funny

Oh.

It didn’t quite top the discovery of waking up in a hospital bed with potential brain damage, but Eleanor is quite sure of one thing. She’s willing to stake money on it, no matter how out of character or divergent he is from her history:

this man is her husband.

Which, great – wow, whoa and every other questionable w-sound.

Hadn’t thought you had it in you girl, Eleanor thinks. She takes another second, ten, fifteen, a minute, to look appreciatively up and down.

******************

She’s not sure if the muscles in her face contort into the expression of surprise like the light bulb that’s gone off in her head – her jaw is still a little slack and her eyes are slow to blink. He might not have noticed, in between one second and the next, how utterly thrown off she is.

******************

It doesn’t look like a fake; Eleanor has seen a lot of fake gold jewelry in her time to know the difference. It’s beautiful in the way that all the ostentatious rings she would pick for herself would not be. She keeps turning her hand this way and that, until one of the nurses asks if she's having wrist pain.

Despite protests, a tall nurse with too much arm hair pushes her in a wheelchair towards the curb where a burgundy crossover idles.

“Hopefully we won’t see you too soon,” Gary, Gerry, Gerald – or whatever – his name is, says cheerfully. She squints up at him, and he falters. Eleanor supposes that one good thing about being brain damaged was she now had a legitimate reason to forget people’s names.

******************

The good news: if she had woken up too brain damaged to remember her own name, Michael would have fixed that problem easily—it would have been two minutes, tops. She’s pretty sure he says her name more than he uses any other noun or pronoun.

(Which, by the way, the fact that she still has a basic grasp of grammar makes her, again, want to keep track for curiosity’s sake what her loopy brain has decided to keep and discard. She’d stared at the red plastic dome on her hospital plate before, after a pronounced beat, Michael had reached across and pulled the foil top off of her gelatin.)

******************

It just sounds funny – something in her brain itches like a scab underneath a cast, present but unreachable. The way he says her name. It’s been her name for over three decades, so she knows what Eleanor sounds like, usually, coming out of other people’s mouths (when they’re coming, even!). Even knows what it sounds like sung in different accents, thanks to that fucking song.

(All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Fuck. Her brain couldn’t have erased that?)

******************

It’s not the porch that surprises her; it’s the honest-to-god porch swing, pale wicker and decorated with springtime cushions. That throws her for a loop; breaks a little part of her brain that isn’t already struggling to function.

(“This…. This broke me.”)

(Something tickles her brain, there, too, but it’s gone.)

It’s a good porch, too. The kind that doesn’t fully wrap around the house, but gives enough room for someone to day drink and – ah, there it is, the little tea table that would be beside the—the ___________. She grasps for the word, shapeless and vague. It’s blurry in her head, the thing she’s thinking about also blurry and distant. Her mouth puckers in a frown.

Michael rolls the car to a commercial perfect stop. Eleanor still jerks in her seat. He unbuckles his seat belt and bounds around to her side, opening the door before she’s even lifted a hand to pop it.

“Here, let me-“

She wonders how often she’s let him do anything, in contrast to allowing him to – her hand moves to rest on the release of the seat belt, staking territory.

Her stomach does one, two, slow flops – a fat pancake turned by an amateur line cook.

******************

She doesn’t need an entire love story’s memory to make an easy conclusion, not when Michael’s eyes sweep across her face with a slow, longing softness while his mouth twitches, again, as if it has something to say he won’t let it:

Michael is in love with her.

Eleanor thinks this should be a good thing, if they’re married, but the conclusion settles uncomfortably on top of her chest – it doesn’t sink in, doesn’t settle into a slot of rightness, and she ignores the feeling of disappointment.

Stupid of her, honestly, to think this observation was all it would take to remember why Michael is in love with her. Or how Michael is in love with her.

(What Michael is in love with.)

******************

They have a cat. She doesn’t know why this is something that trips her up, but it does. She’d nearly tripped up on it, literally, when the thing had slunk up to rub itself against her legs, making figure eights around her legs and Michael’s. Michael had nearly stepped on its tail, foot stopping just before contact as if compelled by muscle memory or a glitch in the system.

“Oh,” he hisses, fumbling with the duffel bag, complementary hospital pillow (the socks she’d decided to “wear out” as she’d joked at the nurse, wiping drool from the corner of her mouth), and reusable water bottles, in his arms, “Vicky, stop.”

“Vicky?”

She hopes she hadn't been the one to name it. Vicky sounds like a bitchy girl name, and in Eleanor Shellstrop's book of past experiences she could confirm this. Twice.

Michael gives up on trying to carry everything into …wherever, instead dumping his load onto the love seat in an adjourning room.

Her fingers trail along the table in the entryway, eyes flickering up to give the large, round mirror at eye-level a glance before she’s turning away. She’s pale as a ghost in this strange grey-blue home.

There’s a kitchen island with real, actual stools that swivel plus a wooden dining table with upholstered chairs. She wants to hiss at how excessive it is – eating a bowl of cereal over a dirty sink was enough for her for years – but she bites her tongue. A voice in the back of her head asks if maybe she had picked some of these, had selected them herself. You don’t build a home for two from only one person’s purchases.

“What would you like first, Eleanor?” His expression is hopefulness strained through a sieve. He doesn’t seem to realize how he leans towards her, curves his entire, tall being to look down at her. “Anything you want, just- just let me know. If you’re hungry, I could fix us a snack before you’re due for your next round of meds.”

It should feel annoying and towering, claustrophobic, but instead, looking upwards at him, she feels watched. Seen. It’s an uncomfortable feeling for someone who has always depended on being able to grift just under the radar, but it also isn’t unpleasant.

His hands are pressed together, fingertips touching, long and lean, like prayer.

“Can I just lay down for a bit?”

Michael’s expression softens. “Of course, Eleanor.”

And he offers his hand, palm upturned, as if the hallway was some long, arduous passage instead of a short walk towards a few doors or a climb up the stairs. Eleanor’s hands are so small in his, but his fingers wrap around hers like old acquaintances—hers have forgotten the intricacies of where to go, his have not forgotten her shape and his thumb brushes, familiar, across her knuckles like hello.

It is a warm and dry hold, and what Eleanor has managed to scrape, glean, and covertly steal in her observations about Michael all lead to the conclusion that this is a good descriptor, the most basic, for Michael himself: warm and dry, like Arizona, but the postcard worthy-parts, not the dumpster fire, trash-bag parts that made her.

At the foot of the stairs he pauses, one hand on the rail, the other holding her hand lifted in the air like a debutante. Something flickers, for a moment, and Eleanor imagines a tall, dark woman in a gown and evening gloves, of all things, poised at the foot of the stairs as if to give a toast. She blinks and the image is gone.

“You know,” Michael says, looking up. His brows furrow. “Maybe we should use the guest room downstairs instead. Avoid the stairs.”

“No,” she says, surprising herself. “I want my room.”

******************

She gives the pillow a sniff, leaning down until her nose brushes against the cotton.

Yeah. That’s her. It smells like the scent of her hair, a little to the left of unwashed and greasy. Faint, but there.

There’s stray, blonde strands of hair that curl, pale and almost invisible, in the space where the pillow had been just before—like sunny, thin worms caught only in a certain slant of light.

Eleanor is playing excavation isn’t she? She is rooting around, examining and putting together all these clues left behind for a relationship, a love; building some semblance of understanding for the ghost of a woman—is she an anthropologist? Or is this a forensic-type investigation?

Is Eleanor Shellstrop dead?

She’s here but not here—the pictures and the gold band around her finger tell her these are her memories but they’re not. Her dumb lizard brain hasn’t ______ it out yet.

Oh. Another word that’s fallen through her fingers before she’s even remembered it.

It feels wrong to roll around, smell, and sleep in someone else’s marriage bed—it’s not the first time she’s done it, but it’s never been her bed.

What other intimacies can she find just sitting in the small-person-shaped dip of this bed? She doesn’t think about the dead flakes or skin, but she breaths deeply and her body nearly lurches into that place between awake and sleep—the familiar smell of bed that can only belong to ones own so strong.

The pillows on this side are fat and soft, just the way she likes them. She knows her head would sink into an orgy of clouds if she were to flop down now. It is tempting to do exactly what she had told Michael she wanted to do.

Eleanor resists—there’s another side to explore, still.

******************

It is during one of these days, where she rolls around on the bed (their bed) like a dog left unsupervised in an empty home, that a thought strikes her. It strikes her so suddenly and with a force that she has to press the palm of her hand to her temple, eyes wincing—

Dummy.

What’s under the bed?

She’d been thorough examining the faint layers of dust coating boxes and folds of laundry on the higher shelves, where someone like Michael would keep his things, that she hadn’t thought to drop below to see where someone like her—past Eleanor, GSTGSD-Eleanor, might have hidden and holed away her own treasure.

The only thing she finds, disappointingly, is a shoe caddy with shoes as big as her head, some dust bunnies, and a laptop still charging.

******************

Vicky the cat goes downstairs into the basement on a daily basis, almost always for half an hour to one, and cries for attention. It’s a bizarre, attention-seeking, and almost resentful performance and, despite being dead ass annoying, Eleanor can relate. What a mood, right?

******************

Forgotten your password? She clicks it.

The prompt doesn’t help at all: you know it, bitch!!

What? Why would she do that to herself? Except, that is so on brand for her and Eleanor hates, hates, hates Eleanor (herself) and loves Eleanor (herself) and hates Eleanor (herself).

She scowls, flexing her fingers. Vicky takes this opportunity to leap into her lap, tail high and crooked for attention, with her unabashed asshole right in Eleanor’s face.

fuckyou! She types, exasperated; before clicking enter, she scowls and adds an extra exclamation mark for good measure—using two exclamations is just enough to push something over the edge, enough to look off balanced, but three would be too much. She wants to send the right amount of recalcitrant bastard to her past self. And if she’s only got one log-in attempt before the laptop bricks, then, fine. Fuck you, GSTGSD Eleanor Shellstrop.

The little ball whirrs for a moment, before the screen flickers, the desktop loading in seconds.

******************

end thoughts: haha okay so I haven’t watched TGP for a hot minute, not since that finale broke me. but I legit don’t recall what GSTGSD stands for (if that’s a show ref) so fuck, haha, help me out here past-adrie. if there’s interest in this I’ll continue it.

#The Good Place #The Good Place fic #hellstrop #eleanor shellstrop #Michael the good place #TGP #my fic

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cake-writes · 6 years ago

Text

Friday Nights

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Alcohol Use, Drug Mention, 18+

Word Count: 8.5k

Summary: The air was a little thick, a little strange in that cold, abandoned warehouse where the two of you went for your mission. Maybe you breathed in something you shouldn’t have. Maybe Steve did, too. Neither of you cared.

Written for an anonymous request.

It wasn’t unusual. At first.

You’d just strapped yourself securely into the seat next to Steve in the cockpit of the Quinjet. He was already flipping switches and buttons to prepare for take-off, and he didn’t even spare a glance when your hand brushed against his knee to activate the thrusters.

It was incredibly common, actually, because the two of you often got sent out on quick in-and-out missions. While others were certainly more lethal, you were the fastest of anyone, and quick missions like this were your specialty. Paired with Steve’s enhanced abilities, the two of you made a good team.

When you reached altitude, it started slow, like a gentle buzz in your toes and fingertips. You blamed it on the turbulence, the way the rough winds made your small plane shudder and quake in the sky. It was kind of like riding a motorcycle, with your body absorbing the vibrations.

Over about fifteen minutes of you being absorbed in a novel and Steve fiddling with the controls every so often, the feeling slowly morphed to a rush of heat through your body. You blamed that on the Quinjet’s always-faulty temperature regulation system. Your combat gear was thick, so you unbuckled your seatbelt to go change into something more comfortable. You and Steve were on your way back home, now, so it wasn’t like you needed the uniform anymore.

That wasn’t unusual, either. You often changed on the way back because you liked a night out on the town afterwards to burn off some work stress and excess adrenaline. Sam, your best friend, was the same, and the two of you went out a couple times a week. He didn’t drink like you did, though – he, like a normal person, drank just to have a good time with friends. Having been a counsellor at the VA for a couple of years, he knew that alcohol was your vice, and he looked out for you. You only spilled your troubles to him after you had a few shots, never before.

When you and Sam were paired up together for a mission, the two of you were absolutely ridiculous on the return trip. You always brought along a couple of different skimpy outfits, and he always offered some stupid, obnoxious feedback about them at the expense of everyone else having to listen. You modelled and posed, and when it was his turn, he did it too and your feedback was even less work appropriate. He’d been your best friend for years. Kind of drove everyone else nuts, if they were being honest. That was the exact reason why you were rarely assigned together.

It was a shame, really, because you and Sam got on so well – but at the same time, it gave you more opportunities to work with Steve. You certainly didn’t mind that, because he was stupidly attractive and you loved any extra time you got to spend with him.

As you got to your feet, your thigh brushed against Steve’s leather-gloved hand on the thruster and, this time, his eyes immediately shot up to you. Not that you noticed, because you were too busy fussing with your weapons belt.

Your body was hot. You didn’t even fully leave the cockpit before you started stripping. It was innocent enough: you just wanted to rid yourself of your belt, heavy Kevlar vest, and the long-sleeved tac shirt underneath. You still had on a tank top and sports bra, and it wasn’t like Steve hadn’t seen any of it before. You’d gone on missions together in hotter places. Mexico. Morocco. Indonesia.

The belt came off with a single click, and you dropped it on the floor of the cockpit. The velcro on your vest ripped open easily and you swore at a buckle that always gave you trouble, before it finally slid open and you pulled the vest off, throwing it down on your seat. Then, as you pulled the long-sleeved shirt over your head, your dog tags caught on the fabric – and when they came loose, they jingled as they fell back against your cleavage.

Your eyes briefly fluttered shut for a moment at the sudden cold chill of the metal against hypersensitive skin. It felt good. A shaky breath escaped you from the feeling, one that didn’t go unnoticed.

When you turned around to place all of your discarded gear on the deck behind you, you caught Steve staring up at you in awe with those lovely baby blues like you were an absolute goddess.

For a second, you stilled at the sight of him. His forehead was damp with sweat, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, lips parted. He looked like he’d just run a marathon – or, because you weren’t in your right mind, like he’d just fucked the life out of someone. You’d certainly be a willing volunteer. It hadn’t been an exerting mission, though, but a simple one: collect some intel from an old, abandoned warehouse. You’d been in and out in less than twenty minutes and neither of you had broken a sweat until now.

You were going to kick Tony’s ass for not fixing that god damned temperature regulator.

Despite the sweltering heat, you gave him a cheeky grin. “Enjoy the show, Rogers?”

He huffed – literally, audibly huffed and turned back to the dark sky in front of him, focusing back on the control panel like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “You know it’s not like that.”

His petulant reaction made you smile. He was always so fun to tease.

“But Captain,” you purred, trailing a finger down the shoulder of his thick uniform. “You’re blushing.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw before he said your last name, once, with such command that it sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “That’s enough.”

Yikes.

It was from pure instinct that your posture straightened, and you had to stop yourself before you instinctively brought your hand up to your brow to salute. Old habits die hard, and this was certainly one of them – especially when he used that authoritative tone you loved so much. In this particular moment, you loved it even more. You could already feel the sticky heat accumulating in your panties.

That wasn’t unusual, either, when Steve used that voice on you in such a casual setting. You had it bad for him.

“Yes sir,” you responded, not nearly as firmly as you meant it to sound, before you climbed out of the cockpit to pack up your gear and change.

He was touchy tonight. You weren’t going anywhere near that. No, you were going to the club.

It was always hilarious, the way you exited the Quinjet like this almost every Friday night. Smoky eyes, matte plum lips, and messy hair perfectly suited your little black dress and patent stilettos, but the bag slung over your shoulder wasn’t a cute purse like one would expect to see with such an outfit. Instead, it was a large, heavy duffel bag containing all of your gear and weapons. Even though it weighed about fifty pounds and was almost as big as you, you still carried it so easily despite the four-inch heels on your feet.

Steve trailed behind you carrying his own equipment, but the two of you hadn’t exchanged a single word since he’d snapped at you in the plane. You didn’t really care. You were planning to get drunk either way, and tonight, you were going to drink to forget about how fucking sexy it was when Steve gave you orders.

As you strode past the living room, heavy bag in tow, Sam’s wolf-whistle caught your attention and you popped your head in the doorway.

“Damn, baby girl,” he said with a grin, giving you an upwards nod. “Think I can get those digits?”

Sam wasn’t flirting, of course, and you snorted.

He was already dressed and ready to go to the club with you, wearing a puffer vest over a tight red t-shirt, a pair of loose jeans and his favourite timbs. On the couch, you spotted Bucky, who you knew wouldn’t be coming along – he never did. He gave you a quick once-over in greeting, amusement playing out on his features.

“Give me five,” you told Sam, gesturing to your duffel bag, before you nodded at Bucky. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, doll.”

Then you turned around and made your way upstairs to finish getting ready; not much, as you just needed to brush your teeth and grab your clutch. You were too focused on getting your things together that you were somehow able to ignore the burning heat still coursing through your veins.

For a little while, at least.

The click of your heels faded the further you went up the stairs, and when the coast was clear, Steve walked into the living room. He could still smell the sweet scent of your perfume lingering in the air, and right now, it was driving him insane. He was still in uniform, shield strapped to his back with a duffel bag of his own gear in hand.

Sam immediately let out a groan at the sight. “Come on, man. You’ve gotta come out with us tonight. Let loose a little.”

“No thanks,” Steve replied, clearly on edge, dropping the duffel to the floor before he took off his gloves. Then he fetched a glass from the cabinet and went to the sink. He was hot, too hot, and seeing you that tight fucking dress hadn’t helped him at all. It never did, but tonight, he was barely able to resist doing something he knew he shouldn’t. He nearly had you up against the wall in the plane, but the journey was a short one, and for that he was eternally thankful. He couldn’t have held back much longer.

The glass filled quickly, and he drained it just as fast. Then he did it again. He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him – probably knew that something was up – but Steve ignored it until his friend finally asked, “You okay, Steve?”

Steve glanced over at Bucky, and then he sat the glass down on the counter. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Yeah, Buck. Just hot.”

Never mind the fact that the mission had been in literal Canadian tundra.

Sam just had the most shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh, I wonder why. I know you saw her, Cap. She’s been lookin’ like a real snack lately, hasn’t she?”

Steve shot Sam a look, one that plainly said he wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer. It only made Sam get on his case even more.

After one more glass of water, Steve ignored Sam’s teasing and went upstairs, too. He needed to clear his head. A couple of punching bags at the gym would do just fine. It wouldn’t ease the burning heat inside of him, but it would serve as a temporary distraction.

A few minutes later, you were back downstairs with a bottle of vodka. Drinking was expensive, so you and Sam liked to pre-game – not much, just a shot or two before you went out. Saved a couple of bucks.

“What are we celebrating tonight?” you asked Sam as he poured you each a shot, and then a third for Bucky. You knew he didn’t like to go out very often, but he certainly didn’t mind having drinks with the two of you before you left. You were never sure why, because the alcohol didn’t affect him. Maybe he liked the social aspect of it.

“Successful mission?” Sam offered with an obvious wink.

You knew what he was implying, and you rolled your eyes at it. No, you hadn’t slept with the Captain which, quite frankly, made you feel a little irritable. Right now, you wanted to more than ever – especially after the way he’d looked at you on the plane. There was some clear tension between the two of you, but you were probably just imagining it.

In response to Sam’s question, you immediately threw the shot back, biting into a slice of lemon afterwards. Both of them just stared at you.

“What?” you asked, shrugging. “You boys need to keep up. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that conversation yet.”

Not that you’d be talking about it at all, but hey. Shots.

What was supposed to be pre-gaming wound up turning into an unplanned party. It wasn’t intentional. You, Sam, and Bucky started to play quarters in between jokes and shots, and then Tony showed up. That was all it took, because it was Tony.

Fire was coursing through your veins. You blamed it on the alcohol. Your body was hot, and your skin almost ached with a need to be touched – almost like the exact opposite of what happened when you got the flu. Your bare legs were thrown casually over Bucky’s lap as you conversed about some guns that were soon to be on the market. You had your eyes on an upcoming beretta, but he liked the improved anti-jam mechanism on the newest glock. It wasn’t exactly an argument, but it was more than just a normal conversation; a heated debate, maybe.

The black denim of his pants was coarse against your smooth legs, and when you moved, the material seemed to chafe in the most pleasant way. It felt good.

Everything felt good.

Even the way Nat announced her arrival, trailing her hand up your arm to settle on your shoulder before she leaned in to say hello. She’d always been touchy-feely with you, offering you kiss on the cheek, a hug, an arm around your shoulders – but for the first time in your life, the feeling of her fingertips on your skin sparked something primal inside of you. It turned you on.

Her breath against your ear when she spoke sent a shiver through you, one that both she and Bucky very clearly noticed.

“You’re a little flushed,” she said, immediately concerned, holding her wrist against your forehead. She knew you well, and you hadn’t yet drunk enough to get that kind of flush so she thought it might be a fever. It wasn’t. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you told her with a dazed smile. “Just felt nice.”

Nat pursed her lips together, but she trusted you. She’d seen you drunk a million times before and she knew that you knew your limits – so she trusted you, like always. Temperature-wise, you felt fine anyway, and she knew no one here would drug you. You’d be safe with Bucky.

After a couple more minutes of gun debate that she commented on, she disappeared into the slowly growing crowd and you shifted closer to Bucky, enjoying the feeling of his body heat and the soft material of his shirt against your skin. You got handsy when you were drinking, a fact that was well-known by just about everyone. Not inappropriately so, really, but you definitely liked to be physically close to people. Most of them indulged you because you were you, and Bucky was no different.

It was almost a necessity, anyway, in order to keep talking to him. It was louder here, now, with more bodies in the vicinity and you had to lean in closer to even hear him at all.

Steve finally popped downstairs an hour or two after the party had started. He really only knew it was happening because Sam had texted him a video of you cheering someone on in the background, your skirt riding up entirely too high. He knew Sam had sent it to him on purpose.

He hadn’t planned to do a single thing tonight after the mission except blow off some steam in the gym. It hadn’t helped at all. He wasn’t feeling quite right, almost like he was sick with a fever, but he never got ill after the serum. His body felt way too hot, but he took his temperature anyway and it was normal. Of course it was.

Getting changed had been kind of an adventure, with the different fabrics brushing pleasantly across his skin as he took off his uniform: leather, linen, metal. The soft material of his gym clothes felt too good against his skin, and when he finally decided to shower and get dressed for the party, his button-down shirt and pants didn’t feel nearly as nice. Not that it mattered.

Steve knew something was off, but he almost felt too good to care.

The moment he spotted you in the crowd, what was once a pleasant burn quickly became a roaring inferno. You were sitting next to Bucky, half in his lap, with one delicate arm hooked around his neck while the two of you conversed. Bucky’s metal hand was resting on your thigh and if Steve was in his rational mind, he would have assumed that Bucky had only put it there out of habit.

At first.

When he got closer, he saw that Bucky’s fingers were ever-so-slightly stroking – stroking the soft skin of your thigh before ghosting back against it again. You chewed your lip, mid-conversation, looking at Bucky with what even Steve could only describe as a ‘fuck me’ look: eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed. When Bucky leaned in to whisper something into your ear, the smile that came across your pretty plum lips was absolutely sinful.

If Steve could so easily see the effect the alcohol had on you, there was no way that his best friend couldn’t, not with you in his arms like this.

It set him off.

Before Steve had a chance to intervene, however, Vision pulled him into a conversation about the earlier mission. He was curious to know about the things he’d seen in Canada, about how the authorities reacted to them on the police scanner – no doubt trying to compile some statistics about whatever it was he liked to do.

By the time Steve was able to wrench himself from that conversation, you were gone.

A half-full bottle of vodka sat on the counter near him, and he drained it in seconds.

Steve found your stilettos discarded haphazardly in the corridor leading to Bucky’s apartment. He knew what was going on. Of course he did. He wasn’t stupid, but why he still wanted confirmation of it all was beyond him.

Your soft laughter and delighted gasps echoed through the hallway. As much as he hated knowing that he wasn’t the cause, the sound shot straight to his cock anyway. He should have known better than to follow you up here like this. You weren’t his girlfriend. That was a fantasy that he’d kept under lock and key for entirely too long.

It drove him absolutely insane to see the difference in you every time you changed from your unflattering uniform into a tight, skimpy club dress and heels. The heavy makeup you wore on some nights made the breath catch in his throat, because all he could imagine were those pretty painted lips wrapped around his cock. All of the perfect, unblemished skin you showed on those nights – your thighs, your breasts, your shoulders and back – he’d been wanting to mark it up for months.

And now, your breathy laughter was making him rock fucking hard and he didn’t know why he couldn’t just stop and go back to his room and take care of it himself.

When the door suddenly opened, it startled him. Bucky was there. It was almost like he’d known that Steve had been watching the two of you downstairs, and he’d been waiting for him to show up.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve hissed quietly, not wanting to alert you that he was here.

“It’s not what you think,” Bucky told him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn’t. He sounded genuine, not panicked in the least, but Steve still didn’t want to believe him. He’d seen the way you were looking at him, at Bucky, like you were about to beg for something that Steve desperately wanted to give to you. “Come on, punk. Here. I’ll show you.”

Steve took a slow, shaky breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to calm himself. Maybe it really was nothing. If so, then good, great – but he still had a growing problem in his pants that needed to be addressed. When he took a step inside, he discreetly adjusted himself while Bucky shut the door again. Even that felt too good. It was a problem.

Bucky’s apartment in the compound was small and sparse. The kitchenette didn’t hold much, and the fridge was just large enough for one person. Steve had been here plenty of times before; knew exactly where the bathroom was, straight down the hallway next to the only bedroom.

The bedroom that you were absolutely not in like he’d expected you to be.

Instead, you were splayed out on Bucky’s plush sofa, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. The fabric on the lounge was a soft grey suede, and you were absentmindedly rubbing one of your palms on it, relishing in way it felt against your skin. The fingers of your other hand were curled loosely in the fleece throw blanket above your head.

Of course, your dress had ridden up quite a bit. Steve caught just a peek of your purple panties, and Bucky must have too, but both of them were gentlemen and quickly averted their eyes.

Steve couldn’t help but ask again, “What the hell, Buck?”

“She’s on something,” Bucky explained. “Some drug. Don’t know what. Maybe molly.”

The confusion must have shown on his face, because Bucky told him plainly, “It makes everything feel really, really good. Amazing, apparently.”

He wasn’t speaking from experience. Recreational drugs didn’t work on them. How the hell Bucky even knew about them was a conversation for another day.

As if on cue, you took the fleece blanket and lifted your thighs to rub it directly onto them. Your dress shifted higher and offered a particularly good view of your ass in your purple g-string, to which Steve let out the quietest groan at the sight, barely able to hold back from palming himself right there in Bucky’s living room. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Stevie!” you said excitedly, then, hopping up from the sofa with a little bit of a struggle as you tried to find your footing. “You made it!”

He swallowed thickly, taking in the sight of you with what felt like fresh eyes. Your skin was flushed, most noticeably on your cheeks and chest, and your dress was revealing far too much. Your hair was a right mess, now, not a perfect one like before but he didn’t care at all – all he cared about was the way you were looking at him. Your eyes were slightly glazed over, and the way you worried your lip in between your teeth did nothing for the stiffness in his pants.

“Yeah, doll,” he said weakly. “I made it.”

The moment your small hand slid into his, his skin almost burned under your touch. He thanked whatever deity there was that he’d rolled his sleeves up earlier, because when you pulled him down onto the couch with you, your delicate fingers started to trace hot fire on his forearms.

His knuckles brushed against the fleece blanket, then, and it felt good. Too good.

Whatever this was, he must have been affected by it too but he couldn’t really bring himself to care with you so close to him like this. You were absolutely intoxicating: the smell of your sweet perfume with just the slightest hint of sweat; the feeling of your skin against his, your soft body against him; and, most importantly, the almost fucked-out expression on your face.

God, you were going to be the death of him.

The air had been a little thick, a little strange in that cold, abandoned warehouse where the two of you went for your mission. Maybe you breathed in something you shouldn’t have. Maybe he had, too. He didn’t care.

Bucky leaned on the back of the sofa, whispering to him, “It’s not molly, is it?”

It was a statement, not a question.

His hot breath against Steve’s ear made Steve grit his teeth. That was all the answer Bucky needed.

“Did you eat anything? Drink anything? What—”

“Boys,” you whined, tugging at Bucky’s hand on the backrest above your head. “Who’s Molly? Do I know her?”

You were rolling hard and you didn’t even know you were. Neither did he.

Bucky clearly did.

“No, sweetheart,” Bucky told you, stroking your hair. “You sure don’t.”

Bucky had always been affectionate with you, and Steve never minded, really; he knew how touch-starved his friend had been for far too long. Right now, though, it pissed him off because the way you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, was so fucking sexy and it drove him up a wall.

Only when Bucky’s hand suddenly stilled did Steve realize how obvious his thoughts must have been.

It was too hard to concentrate. The soft, plush fabrics, the heat from your hands and your body, the way your fingertips were trailing a blazing path over the back of his hand and up his arm; how, when you half-turned around to talk to Bucky some more, your soft breasts pressed right into his bicep and, fuck, it felt amazing. All of it.

He could only imagine how good your fingers would feel around his cock. Your lips. Your tongue. How good you would feel, so wet and tight and fucking soaked for him. There was a very distinct wet patch on your panties when he’d glimpsed them, and it was driving him insane.

It was someone’s idea to put on a movie. You weren’t sure who, and you didn’t care. It didn’t matter, either, because you weren’t watching it.

All you could focus on was the heavy weight of Steve’s arm around your shoulders and the fact that his body heat almost seemed to radiate off of him as you leaned into his side. Bucky was on the other side of you on the sofa, but he was keeping his distance, now, especially compared to earlier. You vaguely recollected that you’d basically sat in his lap at one point but honestly, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You were rolling. Must have been the alcohol.

Steve’s fingers traced slow, delicate patterns on your bare shoulder and upper arm, which was pleasant and nice – and then, when his other hand came to rest above your knee, the breath caught in your throat. His palm was a hot brand on your skin, unmoving, but you desperately wanted him to move it higher. The fact that he was so close to you already was bad enough, but knowing his hand was inches away from your throbbing core was sending you up a wall.

You nearly reached out and dragged it higher yourself.

When the credits started to roll, you didn’t even notice until Bucky cleared his throat.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced, a clear indication that you and Steve needed to leave.

“No worries,” you said with a dopey smile as you wobbled onto your feet, collecting his fleece blanket in your arms. “I’m taking this. It’s mine now.”

Bucky barely stifled a laugh. “Sure, doll. It’s all yours.”

“See you in the mornin’, Buck,” Steve said, to which Bucky gave him a very clear, very pointed look. He wasn’t too sure what it meant, other than it involved you. Then when Bucky winked, he knew exactly what he meant.

Fucking hell.

“Night,” Bucky said cheerfully, pretty much slamming the door in your faces. Not that either of you cared.

The walk to the stairs was quiet and awkward. You could have taken the elevator, but that meant less time together and this was nice. Your apartment was on the floor below, so the two of you made your way there in near-silence. It was late, but you couldn’t be bothered pulling your phone out to check.

When you reached your door, there was a lingering pause when you hesitated.

He did too.

When you finally got enough nerve, you asked him with another grin, like it was just another day at the office, “How ‘bout a coffee, Rogers?”

He did his best to sound casual when he replied, “Yeah, sure.”

You clearly didn’t just mean coffee.

Your hands were a little shaky as you selected the right key and opened the lock; then you dumped your clutch and keys in the bowl near the door and your new blanket on the sofa. You immediately missed the soft fleece on your fingertips.

“Here, you sit down,” you told him. “I’ll brew a pot.”

Steve did as you requested, sitting awkwardly in an armchair while you went to prepare the coffee. He hadn’t been in your apartment before, but he liked the décor and you kept it relatively tidy. It was sweet. It was you.

Not that he could particularly focus on that at the moment. All he could focus on was that everything smelled like you, and it made his cock even harder than it had already been for the last hour or two. At this point, it was becoming almost painful but he couldn’t find it in himself to leave and sort it out on his own. He wanted you to do it for him. Not that he’d ever say it outright.

You quickly checked the clock on the wall and found that it actually wasn’t even all that late, yet – around eleven, yet you were in no condition to keep partying. If it was with Steve, though, then maybe you could go for a little while longer. You were still feeling so, so good, after all.

After a couple of minutes, you finally handed him a plain black coffee and then sat on the sofa across from him, taking a sip of yours. It was hot. The burn on your tongue paled in comparison to the stifling heat in between your legs.

“What a night, huh?” you said with a breathy laugh. In the relatively dim lighting, you couldn’t help but admire his face, the tight button-down shirt on his body, the way just one of his large hands held your coffee mug when you had to use two. Not to mention the fact that it was just you and him, here. Alone. “God, I don’t even remember what the movie was. Do you?”

Steve felt your eyes on him, watched as they drifted down his body, and it did nothing to quell the fire burning inside him. The two of you were very clearly alone. The thought excited him just as much as it terrified him. If this was going where he thought it was going – where he wanted it to be going – he wasn’t going to be able to resist. Not when he was feeling like this.

“I don’t either,” he agreed absently, taking a sip of the coffee you’d prepared for him.

When you shifted in your seat, trying to will away the heat in between your legs, the leather of your thigh holster started to pinch at your thigh. It was a little uncomfortable, now, because you’d been wearing it for a few hours. Without thinking, you put your foot up on the coffee table and slowly slid it down your bare leg. You were back in your apartment now and you had plenty of other guns stashed around, so it wasn’t like you needed to keep wearing it.

You dropped it with a loud thud onto the coffee table. Then you looked back up at him, and immediately froze. His eyes were dark and fixed on your thighs, fixed exactly where—

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You’d just flashed him your panties.

“I just— Christ, I’m so sorry, Cap,” you babbled in embarrassment, yanking your foot off the table. “My holster was pinching, and I didn’t mean to—to—”

The tension was so thick, you could have cut it with a knife.

He licked his lips. Your panties were even wetter than before. Jesus Christ.

“It’s okay,” he reassured you, but his voice was low and rough and the way he was looking at you made you feel like you were going to explode. You wanted to feel his hands on you. You wanted to feel his fingers trace sweet, lazy patterns on your skin again. You wanted to feel his lips on you like nothing you’d ever wanted before.

It was ridiculous how much you wanted to fuck him.

That was when the cramps started – painful, sharp cramps that made you wince and hold your abdomen in pain. Steve was next to you in a flash, his large hand rubbing hot fire against your bare back as he checked on you, asked what’s wrong, if you’re alright—

And then they subsided as quickly as they came. In their wake it left you a shaking, gasping mess – not from pain, but from desire. Your body ached in a way that only his hand on your back was able to soothe. Your core was throbbing, clenching around absolutely nothing and that alone was torturous in its own way.

“I’m okay, Steve,” you ground out in a breathy, hushed voice that went straight to his cock. “I’m fine. It was just a cramp.”

It wasn’t just a cramp.

He swallowed thickly. Your skin beneath his fingertips burned to the touch; it was almost as hot as he felt, and he started to wonder if whatever was affecting him was affecting you, too.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

If that was the case, he needed to keep his distance. He didn’t want to take advantage of you if you were feeling even just an inkling like he was, so turned on and downright fucking insatiable. He made a point of returning to the armchair, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. If he was in his right mind, he would have just left altogether – but he wasn’t. Neither were you.

You turned on the TV to some stupid late-night show, but neither of you were watching it. Instead, you were sneaking glances at each other. The cramps came and went, and you just grit your teeth and dealt with them: inhaling in through your nose, out through your mouth. Every time he looked over at you to make sure you were okay, you gave him a curt nod but every single time made you want to fuck him even more.

You knew he was only staying to make sure you’d make it through whatever the hell this was. Steve was a good person. He wouldn’t let you suffer.

Steve wouldn’t let you suffer.

No, he’d help you.

He’d help you if you asked.

That hazy reasoning was perhaps why you finally pulled yourself to your feet and made your way over to him, almost in a daze. You couldn’t help the extra sway of your hips, and you didn’t bother to pull down your skirt. It had ridden up again from sitting down, and while you weren’t quite flashing him again, it was a very close call. Not that you even noticed.

Maybe you’d sit just a little bit closer. Maybe you’d touch him again. He didn’t pull away the last time. Maybe he’d even touch you.

As you approached, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He blindly sat down his coffee onto the table and leaned back in the chair as you ever-so-slowly came to stand in between his spread legs. Christ, you were gorgeous. You were so fucking pretty, and all he wanted to do was kiss you, worship you, feel you writhe underneath him.

Seeing the way you were looking at him, worrying your lower lip in between your teeth, shattered his resolve. Steve knew exactly what you wanted. It was the same way you’d been looking at Bucky earlier. He held out his hand to you, easy, casual, and you took it without a second thought.

Then you were straddling in his lap, your knees on either side of him, staring into his eyes for the briefest of moments – and then your lips were hot on his because you just couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. It wasn’t a sweet, gentle kiss, but wholly passionate, one that he responded to in such a way that it instantly took your breath away. His tongue swept into your mouth far too easily and you let him dominate you, every inch of you. Your skin burned everywhere he touched, his hands sliding up and down your sides, gripping your ass, anywhere he could reach.

“Fuck,” you breathed when his lips moved to your neck, and he sucked at a particularly sensitive spot there that made your back arch into him. “God, Steve—”

You felt like you could come right this second. It felt so, so good and he hadn’t even touched you anywhere else.

Another cramp hit, and it made you whimper – but he just captured your lips with his again, swallowing the sound as he held your hips down so that you could grind against him. The clothed, intimate contact didn’t alleviate the cramps, but it was a wonderful distraction. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair to pull him closer.

You only broke away for a split second to catch your breath, and when you did, the words spilled out of your mouth almost on instinct. “Fuck me, Steve, please.”

Your voice was whiny and desperate and begging and he nearly couldn’t keep himself in check. It actually pained him to turn you down, he wanted it so much. “Sweetheart, no, you’ve been drinking—”

Then you winced as another cramp hit, your fingers tightly gripping his hair. They were starting to come more frequently, now, and you were starting to figure out why. You were too worked up, too turned on, too ready to take every fucking inch of him like you’d been wanting to for months. You must have been drugged somehow, but right now you didn’t care at all. All you wanted was for him to finally put you out of your misery.

He hated to see you in pain, but it clearly had something to do with whatever the hell it was the two of you had breathed in at the warehouse and if he could help alleviate that pain, he’d do it in an instant.

He finally lost that long, arduous battle with his self-control.

Steve used one hand to lift you up just enough so that his other could deftly unbuckle his belt; a quick zip followed, and then you felt the heft of his bare cock against your damp panties. You let out another breathy whimper at the feeling, and it made him twitch against the delicate fabric.

He could feel how wet you were. He’d seen it already, but now he could feel it, too.

When you let go of his hair to pull your g-string to the side, too hurried to even take it off, you used your other hand to grip his thick length and he took in a sharp breath at the feeling of your fingers wrapped around him. You weren’t even going to take off your panties, you were so desperate to have him inside you. The sudden realization of that made his cock throb in your small hand.

When the head brushed against your slick folds, both of you paused for the briefest of seconds to let out a sigh – and then you lined him up, before you sank down onto him all at once. You were absolutely soaked and he slid inside way too easily.

Your eyes immediately fluttered shut at the feeling. Steve’s cock was so thick, and he stretched you out so much, so perfectly that you couldn’t help but moan and slide your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body tightly against his.

“Christ,” he breathed against your neck, his lips against your pulse. “You feel so fucking good. So wet for me.”

Steve Rogers liked dirty talk. That was a surprising discovery.

“Yeah,” you moaned, grinding your hips into his in a stuttered, uneven rhythm. “All for you, Steve. Always for you.”

His hands were firm on your hips as he rocked you in a steadier rhythm, one that was rough and almost punishing. You could take it. He knew you could by the way you were babbling swears and sweet, breathy whispers of his name, begging him for more – all sorts of filthy things that spurred him on.

“Didn’t even take these off—” His fingers snapped the elastic of your panties against your hip, and you whimpered at the blissful pain. “You just couldn’t wait for me to fuck you, could you?”

Truth be told, you couldn’t. Not that you could even verbalize it.

As if the dirty talk wasn’t enough, his cock was reaching spots inside you that you’d never felt before. That, coupled with the fact that you were out of your mind on something – some drug – had you feeling absolutely amazing. It didn’t even register in your mind that the cramps weren’t exactly cramps anymore. Instead, every time one hit, it just sent you higher.

Steve gathered you in his arms, then, and lifted you only to lay you down onto the sofa. The chill of cold leather was a stark contrast to your sweaty skin. He slung one of your legs over his shoulder before he slid inside you again, and the new angle drove you even closer to the brink. There was power behind his thrusts that he couldn’t quite achieve with you in his lap, but now, you got to experience exactly what it was like to be fucked with that enhanced strength of his and you loved every fucking second of it.

He set a fast, brutal pace that sent you reeling, made you grasp at anything you could reach – the fleece blanket, his shirt, a throw pillow, his ass. You writhed so much that he had to hold your thigh firmly against his chest, otherwise you’d squirm right off the sofa. Your walls were squeezing him so tightly, and despite knowing how close you were it was incredibly difficult for him to hold back long enough for you to get yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he swore, holding onto you like his life depended on it. Hearing him curse brought you higher. “You gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

But you couldn’t really comprehend what he was saying anymore. His name fell off your lips like a prayer, over and over and over until you absolutely shattered under him, your back arching as you fell apart. Seeing your fucked-out face and feeling your tight heat clench around him was what pushed him over the edge, and he buried himself as far as he could go with a low groan, spilling inside of you as you milked him of every single drop.

There were aftershocks as the two of you just lay there with him still throbbing inside of you, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He was still rock hard, and you felt downright insatiable, but the cramps were gone at least and your head was finally starting to clear.

“Steve, we just…” you started to say, looking up at him with apprehension.

His eyes widened just a little, then, as if he suddenly realized what the two of you had just done, before he carefully pulled out of your slick heat – too carefully, like he’d taken advantage of you. Even still, the drag of your tight walls against made him grit his teeth, and the quiet gasp you released at the feeling was like music to his ears.

Something had come over him and he hadn’t been able to hold himself back.

Neither had you.

“I think something happened during the mission,” he explained, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. He wasn’t as successful as he would have liked. “Something in the air. I’m sorry, I should have been able to keep myself in check.”

What he said made you think back to the warehouse. You did remember the sickeningly sweet smell in the air. Was it toxic? It certainly didn’t seem to be, aside from the very obvious side effects that made you act so wanton.

You swallowed thickly and readjusted your clothing, the tension awkward and almost stifling – not that it helped at all. His cum was already starting to drip down the insides of your thighs and it only served to work you up even further.

You wanted more.

When you caught him staring at the mess he’d made of you, it made your cheeks flush even more.

Steve was just being nice by apologizing and taking the blame for this. In all actuality he probably just thought you were easy. Of course he would. You always dressed so trashy on Friday nights, and now you’d gone and fucked him just because he was there. Even if it really was because of something the two of you breathed in, or whatever bullshit lie that was, you still fucked him so easily. It was humiliating.

Still, it did feel like you were drugged, and you’d never known Steve Rogers to be a liar.

“I’m not usually one to sleep around either,” you joked, but it came out sounding kind of pathetic, not like a joke at all.

His eyes shot from your glistening core to your face, and you found him looking at you the same way he had on the Quinjet – like a goddess. Then he gave you an apologetic smile. “I know. This wasn’t you.”

At that, you bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were still that sweet, gentle baby blue you’d always loved, even though his pupils were still blown from what the two of you had just done. In every way, he was gorgeous. You’d been wanting to fuck him for months, and now, you finally had.

The way he was looking at you only served to embolden you like the fool you were for him. “What if it was me?”

Steve noticeably tensed at your question, and you quickly looked away out of embarrassment, focusing on some magazine on your coffee table.

Oh, that was stupid. You shouldn’t have asked. Of course he hadn’t wanted this – he’d been so adamant that it had been his fault, that he’d lost control, that whatever the two of you had breathed in was to blame.

He was clearly an unwilling participant.

He’d been drugged, forced to do this.

You hadn’t.

“Was it?” he responded carefully.

You chewed your lip as you slowly, hesitantly risked a look back over at him – and you absolutely loved the sight, seeing him so dishevelled because of you. You rarely got the opportunity to see him as anything but the prim and proper Captain you’d come to know and love. It was a little fucked up, honestly, because he hadn’t wanted to do any of it but you still relished in seeing him so undone.

Steve’s eyes searched yours for an answer, but you didn’t offer one. He didn’t either.

Instead, you pulled yourself to your feet and, although your legs felt like jelly, you did your best to ignore it. You had a good working relationship with him, and you didn’t want to complicate things by admitting your feelings after some drunken romp as much as you desperately wanted to.

“It’s late,” you told him, deflecting his question.

When you went to move away from the sofa, however, his hand caught your wrist. His fingers were still so hot on your skin and you shivered from the sudden contact.

“Don’t change the subject.”

There was just a hint of command in his voice, and you did your best to keep calm when you met his eyes again – but he’d seen right through you. He always saw right through you.

“We work together,” you said, as if that was a good enough answer.

It wasn’t.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he told you, his thumb gently stroking the skin on the underside of your wrist.

“I’ve been drinking,” was your next excuse – but at this point you were very clearly stone cold sober.

Steve just shrugged. “So have I.”

You knew just as well as he did that alcohol had no effect on him.

“Well, I—“ you started to make another excuse when he tugged on your wrist just hard enough to pull you into his lap, effectively cutting you off. Your legs were on either side of him again, and you were all but forced to acknowledge the fact that he was still rock hard for you and you desperately wanted more, too.

In a stark contrast, his hand came up to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone, and he whispered, “You’re making excuses, doll.”

You swallowed thickly, your cheeks flushing under his touch.

“I don’t want this to be a one-night thing, Steve,” you finally admitted. “What’s going to happen in the morning?”

“I was thinking breakfast,” he responded with a smile – genuine, real. “How do you like your eggs?”

At that, you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. You knew he had no idea that what he’d just said was a pickup line, which made it even more sweet that he was offering to make you breakfast. It made your heart flutter just a little.

Hesitantly, you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It wasn’t anything like the heated ones from before, and he didn’t try to deepen it at all; instead, he slid his arms around your waist to hold you closer. It was purely affectionate, even though you could feel how worked up he still was. You were too.

When you pulled away, you smiled back at him.

“I’d be happy with anything,” you offered, before you rolled your hips against his and he took in a sharp breath at the friction, “but I think we’ve got another problem to sort out first.”

This time, he leaned forward to capture your lips with his - slow, but passionate. The kiss took your breath away just as easily as the first, especially when his tongue explored your mouth with such familiarity, now, that you barely even realized he’d ripped your g-string to shreds.

“You’re gorgeous,” he breathed against your lips, before he started to kiss a blazing trail to your ear. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful. You know that?”

Something had changed between the two of you. This was intimate, now, despite his filthy mouth.

“Why do you think I always change on the plane?” you teased, but your voice was breathy. “I wanted to show you—”

Then his lips were on yours again, swallowing anything else you planned to say.

You hadn’t imagined the tension between the two of you at all. No, you’d been right all along.

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clarketomylexa · 5 years ago

Text

halley’s comet and other extenuating circumstances ch. 3

“It’s snowing?”

Lexa nods.

As if she needs to know for sure, Clarke pushes herself up on an elbow, unwashed hair slipping from behind her ear as she pulls back a wispy curtain to expose a backyard full of snow.

read on ao3

She gets the text at six a.m.

Her phone buzzes by her head and she reaches back, frowning unhappily as she uncurls herself from the warmth of flannel sheets and her long-sleeved pyjama top to answer it, cold worming its way under the dips and creases of the fabric.

It takes a moment to find, and another to figure out why it’s tucked upside down into the storage trolley Clarke keeps on the wrong side of her bed for her acrylics, clock and a little vase of fake, dollar store flowers instead of her own nightstand but when she remembers why she smiles.

Winter is awesome.

It’s even better than Fall if Lexa had to rank the seasons — and not just because football season is over. While September gave her her girlfriend and Clarke on the sidelines in her uniform, Winter so far has had Jake working long hours and Abby pulling second third at the hospital and a mutual agreement between both of their parents that being home alone together is better than Clarke being home alone by herself.

It’s meant cash pinned to the fridge, along with a note in Jake’s handwriting to order something other than sticky rice and egg rolls from Haun Garden for dinner and sitting in Lexa’s bedroom beneath glow in the dark stars, all faded and plastic and peeling from the ceiling, swapping answers for AP calculus over cold Pop-Tarts and Coca Cola cans.

(Even better, it’s meant Clarke in Lexa’s Pikachu pyjama pants and pictures for prosperity — one half of a cheap, silver heart necklace from a kiosk at the mall draped around her neck over her t-shirt).

And yeah, maybe Lexa’s Spanish conjugations have veered toward sloppy ever since Clarke started whispering quiet querida’s and mi corazón’s to Lexa under her breath during class — she thinks she might have single-handedly kick-started Señor Moreno’s nervous breakdown the first time she answered a question with sorry, I don’t know — but the kisses traded later, in the alcove outside the arts classroom in B block more than make up for it.

“Clarke,” she whispers, digging her way through the intricate layers of comforters and quilts on the bed until she finds the lump.

It’s a blond lump, tucked cozily into a grey-green Polis High School Cheerleading sweatshirt, pyjama pants and the Christmas socks Lexa slipped into her stocking the day before Christmas Eve, and it squirms unhappily when it’s poked, glaring at Lexa past the edge of her pillowcase with slitted, sleepy eyes.

“What?”

Lexa hands over her phone in reply and Clarke takes it with cold fingers, blinking at the screen as she reads the text from Lexa’s Mom.

Roads are closed. Daddy called the school board and you don’t have school today. Be home for dinner, please. Love you.

“It’s snowing?”

Lexa nods.

As if she needs to know for sure, Clarke pushes herself up on an elbow, unwashed hair slipping from behind her ear as she pulls back a wispy curtain to expose a backyard full of snow. It’s harsh and white in the light from the porch. A thick layer of it sits on the patio furniture and the grass is buried from fence to fence, boxed in on either side by big, sloping mountains, the ice yellow and green and starburst red in the reflection of the Christmas lights still hung up on the trellis.

It’s January now, Christmas is over, but the Griffin’s have a habit of leaving their decorations up well past Epiphany much to the annoyance of Mrs Gardiner across the cul-de-sac who has her lights up and down on a practically military timetable. Jake has been promising to do it for the past two weeks, ever since he went back to work after the holidays but he says it with enough of a twinkle in his eye that Lexa knows they’ll still be up come Valentine’s Day and beyond.

(Lexa is OK with that; when she thinks about sitting cross-legged with Clarke on the porch on February Fourteenth, watching the lights catch in the spun-silk of her hair, she wonders if spite is enough for Jake to leave them up all year round).

“Shit!” Lexa hisses when cold air unexpectedly invades the pocket of heat she’d eked out against Clarke’s mattress. She traps her arms against her chest, pulling the cuff of her sleeve down with her thumb as she watches her girlfriend move around the room in a single chin of light from the open curtain.

A pair of UGG boots are flung out of the bottom of the closet and she frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Going outside,” Clarke tells her from the foot of her bed where she pulls the sheepskin boots over her socked feet.

She looks so pretty in the six a.m. light — so loved and worn in wearing Lexa’s pyjamas and her cheerleading sweatshirt — that Lexa can’t even summon the strength to tell her no when her own sneakers are fished from the depths of the overnight bag she stowed under Clarke’s desk the afternoon before.

Instead, she takes them dumbly, looping the laces around cold fingers and wondering if there’s anything in the world she wouldn’t do for Clarke Griffin.

It appears not, she thinks as she follows Clarke downstairs half an hour later, clinging to her sweater sleeve in the pitch dark of the stairwell.

During the day the alcove is lit up — the walls practically a shrine to a gap-toothed Clarke in her powder blue little league jersey grinning proudly from the front of every frame — but now, Lexa struggles to see as she follows her girlfriend through the dark.

Clarke disables the alarm with Lexa’s fingers firmly ensconced in hers, unlatching the patio door, grinning madly as she pulls Lexa with her out into the biting cold, so perfect and complete, it steals the breath straight from Lexa’s lungs.

Cold air worms its way under her t-shirt, raising goosebumps up her arms and she pokes her thumbs into her cuffs to combat it, her shoulders hunched against the chill. She watches Clarke next to her as she shuffles her soggy UGG boots to the edge of the deck and reaches an upturned palm out as far as it will go, watching the flakes settle into the crevices of her skin.

“It hasn’t snowed like this since February,” Lexa says, crossing her arms over her chest to preserve the warmth. The snowflakes in front of them are coming down in thick, wide clusters, unlike the sleet that came before Christmas and turned the football field to slush. They cling like velcro to Clarke’s hair and clothes.

“Since Atom fell in the parking lot and ate ice trying to invite Octavia to the Sadie Hawkins dance,” Clarke remembers, laughing.

Lexa frowns. “Aren’t the girls supposed to ask the guys to those?” She remembers that particular dance in vivid, excruciating detail. How Clarke asked Finn Collins to go with her and how she — forced to go by Anya, the only Junior on the decorating committee — stood in the corner by the restroom all night, watching the little throng of Freshmen slow dance a few feet away, pulling uncomfortably at the stretchy hem of her Forever 21 dress.

It had pretty much been the worst night ever. The crepe paper constellations tacked to the ceiling hadn’t even been astrologically correct.

“They’re supposed to,” Clarke shrugs, blinking up at the sky. Wet snowflakes string themselves like beads through her hair and Lexa itches to reach out and touch them. “No one does though. They just wait for the guys to buy their tickets and like about how they asked them.”

That seems stupid to Lexa — like a whole lot of mental gymnastics just to make sure people think you don’t care. Then again who is she to judge?

“I’d ask you,” she whispers, digging her chin into her shoulder as she looks over at Clarke.

“I’d ask you too,” Clarke grins.

(It sounds a little like something else).

When she wakes up again three hours later, it’s light.

There’s a space heater pointing at them from the open doorway — she can see the extension cord snaking away down the corridor — and Clarke is flush-cheeked next to her when she looks over, propped up on her elbows as she scrolls through her phone.

“Hi,” she looks down at her, smiling in the same way as she has done every morning since they started sleeping in each other’s beds.

Her hair is still a little damp around the crown — a shade darker than the rest of her head like damp, wet sand — and Lexa reaches up to tuck a kinky, blond lock away from her eyes, feeling Clarke preen under her touch. “What’s the time?”

“Nine,” Clarke replies. “You’re phone’s been buzzing.”

“It’s just Anya,” Lexa guesses, reaching over to unplug her phone from her charger. Sure enough, it is, Half a dozen Snapchat’s she forgot to reply to tonight — mostly because they were all teasing her about how whipped she is for spending her lunch hour yesterday huddled on the bleachers watching her girlfriend run make-up lacrosse drills — plus a new phone sits on her lock screen. She thumbs the notifications away and presses her camera against the comforter to send a reply. “She’s picking me up at four.”

“Awesome,” Clarke throws her phone down on the mattress. She tosses her hair out of her face as she slides a bare leg over Lexa’s hip and Lexa has to remind herself to breathe.

She thinks remembers Clarke tossing her pyjama pants away in the hours after they went back to bed. It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal then, but now she can feel Clarke’s knee pressed against the bare skin of her waist, everything inside of her feels like it’s on fire.

Honestly, she’d been pretty upset to note that the whole constantly horny side effect of being a sixteen-year-old girl hadn’t gone away when she got a girlfriend to relieve the tension with. If anything, it’s only gotten worse. Like, a lot worse. She wonders if her and Anya’s newfound closeness extends to talking about…this.

“What do you want to do?”

What Clarke wants are pancakes.

Lexa sits on the granite countertop with a plastic bottle of her batter in her hands while she bangs pots and pans around in the butler’s pantry and wonders if this is what all the songs mean when they talk about love.

It’s puke worthy to even think about, let alone say out loud; so unbearably cliche for someone so reliant on logic and reason but it feels good not to be striving for something anymore. It’s all still there in the background — track meets, debate, a million AP classes she isn’t even sure she enjoys — but they don’t feel as imperative as they did before. She doesn’t feel like she will fade into oblivion if, one day, she doesn’t want to be valedictorian anymore.

Besides, Clarke makes it feel like it’s OK to think in cliches. Mostly, it’s just the ‘l’ word that’s been knocking around her head recently that has her nervous; she’s no expert, but she’s pretty sure they’re too young and it’s too soon to be feeling something so big and important.

She plants the bottle of pancake batter on the counter when she realises she’s about to peel the label off, picking sticky residue off of her restless fingers.

“Did you know the average snowflake falls at a rate of three point one miles per hour?”

It isn’t snowing anymore. The sky is bright blue and cloudless but every now and again, flat, white chunks will fall from the slope of the Griffin’s roof, leaving powdery piles on the ground beneath the kitchen window.

“Only you would turn a snow day into a physics lecture,” Clarke complains, grinning at her as she emerges from the pantry with the skillet. She plants it on the cooktop and turns on the gas, pouring a dollop of batter into the pan.

“Why should you miss out on learning just because of some anomalous weather?” Lexa teases innocently.

“Oh,” Clarke trills, “someone’s been doing their SAT prep.” She leans across the counter until Lexa can feel her breath against her ear and whispers in a half-cocked porn-star moan: “I love it when you use big words.”

“Ostentatious,” Lexa murmurs back, taking the bait. “Evanescent. Spurious. Anachronistic.”

Clarke giggles sweetly, her cheeks pink and her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. “Keep going,” she requests and Lexa tries desperately to remember the words written on the neon green queue cards tacked to the wall above her bed.

(In other news, she’s pretty sure she’s found a new revision tactic and files that away for later).

“Empirical. Ignominious. Unilateral…Clarke!”

“I didn’t see that one on the list but I’ll go with it.”

“No!” Lexa squeals, pointing at the stovetop in alarm. “Clarke!”

“Shit!” Clarke blanches at the smoking pan, lunging for the handle.

“Don’t touch it!”

“Fuck!”

Taking the kitchen towel from the rail on the oven, Lexa winds it carefully around the handle of the smouldering pan, carrying it carefully to the island where she dumps it in the sink. It sizzles angrily against the water leftover in the breakfast dishes beneath it, billowing smoke in thick, blake waves and Clarke stares at her charred pancake despondently.

“So…Gus’s?”

They go to the diner, wrapping up in UGG boots and hoodies, tucking their wallets into their pockets and their ears under their beanies as they trudge through the snow. The smell of smoke is still trapped between in Clarke’s hair and every time she bumps up against Lexa as they walk — cinched far too close together on the otherwise empty sidewalk — she bursts into fits full of giggles, shoulders bouncing under her hoodie.

It had taken three minutes for Abby to call once the smoke alarm went off — screaming loud enough for Lexa to flea to the porch while Clarke stood on the kitchen stool to fan the smoke away from the sensor — and fifteen more for Clarke to convince her the house was still standing.

(“Mom, would I be talking to you from the landline if it wasn’t?”)

She made Clarke promise to stick to takeout and grilled cheese made in the sandwich press and maybe sign up for Home Ecc next semester but eventually, she hung up, telling Clarke she’d see her tonight and Clarke had scraped the remnants of the pancake into the trash before turning to Lexa with a look like a scolded child.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you today,” Gus grunts when they enter the diner, looking up from where he stands behind the counter with a mug of thick, black coffee.

For all the time she’s spent with him, Lexa can’t tell if it means he’s happy to see them or not. What she thinks is exasperation one day could just as easily turn out to be fondness.

He refuses to let Lexa take on a shift when she offers now that she doesn’t have school, sitting them in their booth by the window with two sticky menus and two mugs of coffee instead and mumbling something about teenagers being half-naked in the snow when Clarke stretches enough that her bare stomach shows under the hem of her cropped hoodie.

Clarke waits until he retreats to the kitchen with two orders of pancakes scribbled down needlessly on his notepad before she leans over the table conspiratorially, smoke still lingering on the collar of her hoodie.

“I think he’s starting to like me.”

Gus cuts them off after their third cup of coffee.

Lexa pushes her mug towards him when he does the rounds with the coffee pot, offering it to the three other customers who have braved the roads that the ploughs are still in the process of clearing but he shakes his head when he stops in front of them, clearing their breakfast plates instead. Lexa’s jaw drops, indignant.

“You’re sixteen. What do you need caffeine for?”

“I take four AP classes,” Lexa fires bag, offering her mug again.

Gus slides it back towards her. “Go outside, Lexa.”

Rolling her eyes, Lexa puts two twenties on the table that she knows Gus is going to put towards her paycheque next month and the two of them slide out of the booth.

Clarke doesn’t want to go home yet. They left the windows downstairs open on their safety catches as Abby told them to but the kitchen still smells like smoke so she pulls Lexa towards the park instead, using her sleeve to wipe the powdered snow from the swing and lowering herself to the rubber seat. Lexa takes the tone next to her, digging the toes of her soggy boots into the ground to stop herself from moving.

Despite the temperature and her breath fanning out in front of her like locomotive steam, Lexa doesn’t feel cold. There’s syrup instead of gloss on her lips and she’s starting to lose feeling in her toes — she wiggles them in the tips of her boots to no avail — but when Clarke leans over, cinching their swings together by the cold, metal chains, Lexa doesn’t think she’s ever felt warmer in her life.

She presses her forehead against Clarkes, the rim of her beanie trapped between them, and feels Clarke’s breath bloom hotly against her collarbone. It feels intimate; far too intimate for the swings in the middle of the morning. It seems like something that should happen as they lie in Clarke’s bed at night, Clarke’s five-fingered grip pressed firmly against the flat expanse of her stomach and backs turned against the open bedroom door — Abby’s rule, not theirs. She shivers.

“Are you cold?”

When she doesn’t reply, Clarke’s snakes an arm around her torso, frigid fingers slipping between her hoodie and the waistband of her sweatpants and Lexa shrieks, bucking wildly against the cold. Her swing lurches sideways, the chain slipping out of Clarke’s palm, and Lexa careens backward, landing with her top rucked up in a pile of wet snow.

For a moment, all she can feel is cold. The cold, harsh kind that slings itself through her veins as the snow soaks the ribbed hem of her hoodie and up into the fabric back of her bra. Then, Clarke’s face is blinking at her owlishly from above, two amused and one part guilty — it only takes her a second to laugh.

“Now I am.”

Apologetic, Clarke’s fingers slip in a circle around her wrist, muscles straining against Lexa’s weight but Lexa leans back with two hands and pulls Clarke down to the snow with her instead. She lets out a scream, kneeing Lexa inelegantly in the crotch when she hits the ground but Lexa thinks she probably deserved it.

“So am I,” Clarke looks at her, chest pressed close enough that Lexa can feel the little vibrations from her giggles through the thick fabric of their hoodies.

Clarke rolls off of her when the mother of a two-year-old in a pom-pom hat on the other side of the playground gives them a tight-lipped look — at the ruckus or at the sight of them cinched on top of each other, Lexa doesn’t know. Curling on her side against the gritty, snowy ground, Clarke shoots her long, farcical faces while Lexa tries to stifle the laughter that rises within her, rolling like waves of champagne bubbles.

It shouldn’t even be funny — it isn’t funny — but every second she spends with Clarke feels like a reason to laugh and it makes her happy in the most perfect way.

When she gets herself under control a minute later, fits of giggles tapering off into snatched, little hitches of breath, Clarke is watching her, lips trapped between her teeth, and Lexa knows she feels the same.

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

They’re clean and dry now, curled together like two halves of a closed shell against the rumpled sheets of Clarke’s bed.

She had dragged Lexa upstairs once they got home — shivering and cold in their wet, snowy clothes — and while everything inside of her had rebelled when Clarke reached for her pyjama pants and fleece to climb back under the covers, the temperature was low enough — that deep, stinging cold that slings itself through hardwood and window panes — that, even if they hadn’t left the windows open for most of the morning, the central heating and space heater combo probably couldn’t have done much to combat it.

Instead, it was the way that Clarke had pulled her down to the mattress with a wicked smile when Lexa was only halfway through putting her pants on that had given flushed cheeks and that sweet, syrupy warmth back to her body. Her heart is still recovering.

“Here.”

(She means it too — whole-heartedly and with every fibre of her being. She’d give up a ticket to the moon if it meant she could relive this moment ad infinitum).

Clarke gives her a funny, little look.

“You’re a sap, you know that?”

#clexa #clexa fic #clexa mood board #high school au #cheerleader clarke #nerd lexa #fluff #to break up some of the yuckiness on my dash #i made the mood board before christmas #so it's irrelevant now #sorry about that #written in a fit of 2am inspiration #can't vouch for the quality #oh well

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grim-faux · 4 years ago

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22 - The Scholar and the Eagle

For a long time I stared at it, struggling to identify the solution to an equation designed by math gods. It was an elaborate architectural design, and in itself it resembled a complex engine. It held a beginning and a means to no end. I pondered over it, not quite fitting the kegs in the machine together, until it finally clicked. This was the bottom line, the end note, the utopia of their research come full.

“This is the Morphogenic Engine. A few lines of mathematics, an algorithm. Reprogram us, turn us into nightmare factories. A few numbers on a dry erase board. Give me a hacksaw and a few hours alone with Dr. Wernicke’s corpse. I feel I owe him a debt.”

It was all I had come to suspect, in the end. And now, I had activated the Morphogenic Engine. Whoopee fuckin doo. Time to go.

But before I departed, I set the remaining fingers of my left hand on the board and ran them across the fractioned lines. Not enough to maim the formula entirely, but enough to leave my mark in the most appropriate way I could. Now, if I could locate Wernicke’s corpse I might drag that along with me as well.

I hesitated from the sudden hiss of the doors as they opened into the corridor, I remained cautious and leaned out checking the cold white walls before I stepped out. Daylight continued to poor from the hangar doors and the jeep sat, waiting for no one. With a sigh I turned to the right, hopping over the blue barrels parked on the pathway. It was a pathway I realized, with small channels along the raised sides that could have transported water. Or collect water if the floor became wet. I soon saw this as I slipped past a cart with crates dumped across its top. Behind it, a body coated the wall. A BODY was dried to its guts up the wall, and blood had spilled from the walkway into the channel, the vent above it was thick with muscle and spine chunks.

No surprise the mutilation was this far, these people had been trying to get out at the time. How was this possible? How was this level of carnage achieved? I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact, no one— No ONE had escaped. I slowed down a bit, doubting my own competence to move those doors. Recollections of the Asylum and the rotting MHS cop, cut through my thoughts. Security Protocols, Automatic shutdown. This was all wrong.

An emergency light burned softly at the end of the corridor, I’m almost certain it was white and not that deep shade of red. Above directions indicated the Exit was to my left or right if I so chose. I glanced to the right, but the door left open only revealed a flattened ladder, upon bodies that had been crushed beneath. Blood coated the walls, as only blood could coat walls in these halls. I only stared, I didn’t need to enter.

I took the dark tunnel on my left, the NV flashed until the image cleared and I waited for the colors to settle. The nightvision had only a few minutes of power left, but it wouldn’t matter once I was out in the sun. I had not located the purge doors yet, and didn’t know if I would need to revisit this corridor. That charge was in the air, a wild sensation buried in my muscle and bone. I was waiting for something, I expected something to happen that had not presented itself yet. I could almost hear it.

I stopped and listened, debating on crouching behind the barrels on either side of the hall. It was a sound, distant but I’m certain I was hearing it. Or, was that just the blood vessels in my ears, my heart thudding? I navigated around overturned barrels, pallets toppled on the path. It was unnerving how clear the visor had become, or was that just me? But I was sure I could see further now, than when I was trapped in the Asylum. Then my mind supplied the answer. The white walls reflected the infrared illumination for the camera to pick up.

I think lying to myself has become a habit.

There was no other sound, but for my shoes sticky with blood, the Velcro noise echoed throughout the tunnel. I turned the corner, physically fighting myself not to run. The friction in the air died to some degree, or I wasn’t paying attention. I squeezed my eyes shut to clear my senses and focused ahead, where the chiseled rock ended at brick walls. Beneath the walls stretched caution marks on the path, I’m certain those lines were yellow and black. I couldn’t judge how far I’d come from the window or if my perception could be trusted, but I was willing to believe the doors couldn’t be that much further. It looked like a straight walk.

I only made it a few steps before the earsplitting screech of an emergency siren shattered the stillness. Above, a strobe flashed and spun against the ceiling, its colors might’ve been yellow as easily as they could be green in the NV tint. I backed up as the camera flashed, the visor had changed and warped before it cleared. There was a hissing, a grinding shrill that ate through my soul. I raised the camera higher, though the visor flickered and failed altogether. Before then, I saw a shape materialize in open air, out of nothing. I recognized it. I knew what it was. The patients had warned me about it. Without a doubt this was the murderer who left no footprints.

The Walrider

I stumbled back as that same flash of pain sliced through my head, I saw white and images burned into my eyes. Damn! The air felt cold and malevolent, the hair on my arms and neck stood on end as I struggled to shake the stupor from my numb mind. Visor, the visor wasn’t working! I pat the camera gently, the image immediately returned as I pivoted. The distortion in the hall shrieked after me, sounding like nails and death all in the same go. I felt a prying in the base of my skull as I raced to the halls end. I hadn’t seen how far back it was before the camera was working, it was impossible to decide if there was enough distance. My only sane conclusion was to run and not trip.

The corridor vibrated with its grating screams, it was like stabbing hot Q-tips through your eardrums. My thoughts pulsed with images, tremors surged up my spine and bore into the back of my eyes. I saw visions of death, red filled the visor. I zipped by the remains of Murkoff’s people, pieces I had glanced over when I passed. Only now could I visualize the trauma in their flesh.

I shut down the NV as I zipped away from the dark corridor, my shoes skid on the leftovers of the Researcher torn open over the light. As I wrench myself around the corner I try and glance over my shoulder where it is, but it’s too dark. My skin crawled as I detected that terrible presence, as though it were reaching for my throat right then. But I was already gone, ignoring the pain as I vault over barrels, my brain high on the exhilaration that I could outrun it. I could hide from it. Whatever it was, demon, madness of science! I was going to outrun death itself.

The strobes along the wall bawled warnings and flashed red. If it wasn’t behind me, the tunnel would be passive and calm as it had been during my first pass. As it was, my muscles tingled with the spastic shock I couldn’t shake, the light had taken on a luminosity that stabbed my eyes. When I took the chance to gawk back, I wasn’t paying attention and nearly toppled right over the stacks of sacks on pallets. I managed to twist my knees under me and skid over, and made a smooth transition to the floor as I resumed pace. My breath came in ragged gasps, as I fought back the sharp knot twisting in my side. A little further, hang in there. I shot around the unmarked tanks and all but plowed through the doors waiting for me.

Someplace to hide, somewhere deep. I needed a dark place to curl up and lock it out of my mind!

I reached for the knob but the doors ripped out of my grasp and who of all people would it be?! The big ugly fucker looming in front of me, eyes narrowed and lips splint back oozing fresh blood. I was too shocked to move, my brain fizzled out as he swept forward and snared me around the torso. I made some sort of noise and tasted copper in my throat. Where was it? Where did it go? I tried to see over his shoulder into the hall, as he adjusted his hold on me. His fingers dug through my coat as he whirled around, in response I kicked at his face. I must’ve hit him because he gave me a firm shake, causing my vision to ripple.

“Little pig, little pig.” I blinked and saw his teeth as he jerked me up. No! No! NO more windows! He was going to shatter me against the WALL! He hoisted me over his head as I clawed at his chains, in desperation I slung my foot out and smashed my heel into his mutilated nose.

Chris gave a nasally hiss and flung me onto the hard floor. I murmured something as a rib crinkled in my chest, I couldn’t take much more of this. I gaped up at him, choking as I fought to get a word out, a warning even. Instead, I crawled away with the camera clutched to my chest, and watched as a dark insubstantial vapor settled over his head. “No more escape.”

It swirled around his head, dragging him back towards the wall as he let out a yowl of horror. I heard bone shatter as he struck the concrete and folded to the ground. He had barely gotten an arm under his weight, when he was slung to the opposite wall and dragged up, leaving a thick crimson trail. I continued to push myself away, stunned and terrified by what I was witnessing. Chris slapped into the other wall once, a second time, and dropped. He lay on his side reaching out, groping for a hold to drag his carcass up.

I raised my camera as the swarm dissipated, and through the flickering visor watched as the giant of a man moaned in pain, struggling to put himself back on his feet. I saw nothing, but when I clicked on the nigthvision I saw…. the form that resembled something human. Something skeletal. It slung Chris over its ‘shoulder’ like he was a filthy towel and launched him against the wall, more crackling as bones rubbed and muscles snapped. The Walrider flung him to the other wall, but I couldn’t see what it was doing as I clicked off the NV to confirm my theory. Chris hit the high ceiling and flopped to the polished floor that was now slick with his own blood.

I turned the NV on in time to witness the apparition lift up into the air with its victim tangled in its vapor and… entered his body, or was absorbed by his skin? I gawked, jaw hanging, as Chris gave a strangled wail before his body erupted into a shower of bone and skin, his organs trailing into the nearby vent and spilling down in a torrent of blood. Bits of his body spewed off in every direction, until the pristine wall, ceiling, and floor was painted red.

I sat for some time too shaken to budge, terrified the Walrider would return to shred my body to pieces next. But it didn’t. A dull ache pulsed behind my right eye and my ribs throbbed, but I was in one piece. Somehow. I didn’t know if I should be thankful or not, it was hard to place my emotions.

“This is the way you die. Ripped to pieces from the inside, watching your marrow scatter on a concrete wall. You’ve escaped one Hell, Chris Walker. God help me but I somehow hope you didn’t find another.”

I suppose he failed his self-proclaimed mission. He never even stood a chance. I didn’t want to think about what fate lay in wait for me. I couldn’t get out unless I could get around that… the Walrider.

Red mist stained the front of my shirt, and fresh streaks clung to my lowers legs. I fingered the cut in my pants, the one caused when the big fucker tried to drag me out of somewhere. I exhaled a breath that tasted thick of copper. He was gone now. But he was replaced easily.

I pushed up to my feet and swayed. I wanted to say that was a close call, but it wasn’t. I don’t know what you call that. Deus Ex Machina? The story of my life.

The battery was done. I clicked off the NV and looked over the camera, taking catalog of its battered state. I’d be lucky to find more batteries, but it didn’t seem to matter at this point. I lowered the camera and stared up at the tatters of muscle left on the vent, still wet and dripping. There had to be a way around it, or a way to distract it. I might be able to outrun it, but there was no chance I could get around it here. The purge chambers closed whenever they detected its presence, they probably remain closed. Maybe they were shut for good now! Damn precautions. I just want to get out of here!

I turned and began walking down the hall that wouldn’t lead to the swarms nest. If I disturbed it again, there would be no second chance. I’d run out of enemies to feed it. There was no reason to believe it had just left for good, either. It might’ve wandered off and lost track of me. Good lord, my head. I’ll return to the lobby, I could elude it there for a short time.

A voice drifted up from the hall as I approached, but not the sort of voice I would expect, even in this pace. I strained to see beyond the double doors Chris had flung open in his hunt. The panel that was previously locked was now open. I inched closer and stared inside, to another butchery of MHS tactical. But beyond the stack of bodies was a Plexiglas chamber with one door, no visible knob. Inside was a man in a wheelchair, situated behind a desk and calling… to me?

“Over here, please. I must… try to explain.” He looked barely alive, his skin wrinkled and wrapped loosely over his bones. He was bald, and a gnarled hand adjusted the chair he was confined to. It held him together by a respirator attached to his throat. Clearly, he couldn’t speak without the mechanism tied to him.

I scanned the room over before I decided to enter. The possibilities were endless, but I had doubts that I was the forefront of his concerns. Besides, I already knew who this was.

“Dr. Wernicke?” I stepped over the bodies splattered across the floor and stood before the door. I didn’t expect he would open it.

His office was luxurious, maybe too much for a man that had the mobility of a quadriplegic. A large library of books lined one side of the room, while behind his desk hung a stunning portrayal of Prometheus and the eagle. I’m one hundred percent certain it was a painting and not a reproduction. I made note that there were boxes of files set on his book shelf, the crème of Murkoff research.

“I know, I know,” he began. “I am supposed to be dead.” I turned around as the door gave a decompressing hiss and I was trapped in here with him. “No… no such luck. I am older than sin, but somehow…the only one left. Because of Billy.”

I tried to be subtle about holding the camera beside my leg and listen patiently to the doctor, but I suspected he was aware of my actions.

“He takes care of me. He may think I’m his father. He certainly loves me, the poor idiot.” I frowned. I had already read the files, I was aware of their ‘talks.’

Dr. Wernicke directed his chair toward the same trinity molecule symbol thingy from the labs lobby. “Do you know what this symbol represents?”

I shrugged. “Molecular contamination?”

“It warns of a Nanohazard.” He turned to face me once more, and rolled toward the clear Plexiglas that separated us. “Microscopic machines. Technology we have had for decades but never mastered.”

Files flashed through my memory. H Theory experimentation, long before Murkoff took over Mount Massive. “…waiting for them in the mountain.” My hand trembled as I set it over my eye. Lights were too damn bright.

“Does your head hurt?” he asked, no tone of concern. Though a machine was speaking for him.

“No. No,” I whispered. Don’t lose it now, Miles. My pride was still intact, notwithstanding the circumstances. I caught sight of myself in the reflective surface and was reminded of how hellish I must look. “It’s just stress.”

He made a sound I couldn’t identify, and said, “You’ve been through a lot.”

I looked at him. “No. I have not.” I cleared some of the copper in my throat before I spoke. “You knew how to access that technology?” Come to think of it, I shouldn’t be asking him these questions. He wasn’t my buddy, we weren’t discussing theories over coffee. I was in a tiny air tight cell, surrounded by corpses.

Wernicke dipped his head as he adjusted the chair, and wheeled around the side of the room. “Murkoff discovered, in my research, a workaround.” I pressed my hand to the Plexiglas to steady myself, and watched the doctor move. “Turning the cells in a human body into nano-factories. It’s the natural function of cells to produce molecules, but through psychosomatic direction, we engineered the precise molecules necessary. Mind over body.”

He stopped parallel to the desk and adjusted his chair, as if to reconsider the nanohazard inscribed on the wall. “It was… foolish and wrong to think we could control it. To use mad men to make something so strong.” I nodded slightly.

“You have to stop him, to… murder Billy.” He spun the wheelchair to face me and enforced this duty. “Turn off his life support, his anesthesia. You have to undo what I’ve done.”

I leaned back from the barrier uncomfortably and looked upon the dead soldiers pureed across the floor. He must have anticipated my reservation. “No one can get out of this place while he lives. You must kill him.”

I ran my thumb along the hairline crack in my camera and took a breath. I think my patience irritated him. “And how do I go about this?”

“Down the hall here, I will open the entrance to the Morphogenic wing.” He tilts his head to my right. The door behind me whispered as air seeped back into the room. I hadn’t realized how rancid the air became, while I was trapped with these bodies. “Do whatever you must to… stop it all.” With that he turned his back to me, and seemed to fix his gaze on the painting of Prometheus.

I said nothing. I backed away to the entrance and paused.

“We achieved something like this back in 1944. Those fascists thought it was spirits, and we let them believe it. Let them kill themselves thinking there was some kind of afterlife empirically promised to them. Fools.”

While he was turned away, I raised the camera to make sure and film his confession. “Poor Alan. He would weep to see what I’ve built from his dreams.’

“Billy doesn’t mean harm.” I glanced down to the soldiers and wondered; had they been trying to protect Wernicke, when ‘Billy’ escaped. Had they been mistake as a threat, while trying to defend the doctor? “He’s a child with a damaged mind, granted the powers of a God. It would make any of us into a monster.” Seemed so.

“You must end this. We all must die here.”

There was a terse pause here. The doctor was waiting for my response, but I said nothing. I had misgivings for this statement, but I didn’t humor him with voicing them. This was a true man of science.

“Murkoff knew the danger, and they didn’t care,” he resumed. “In the corporations’ mind, we are all just dollar amounts in a ledger. And the profits Project Walrider promised overshadowed whatever pitiful balance a few doctors and patients amounted to.”

I lifted my brows and shrugged though he couldn’t see it. I doubted he was so white knight about his research during the time. I kept in mind he was one of the scientists of Project Paperclip and therefore, an asshole in my book.

“He will spread if you don’t stop him. The Morphogenic Engine is self-perpetuating. I pray to God you have the strength to end it here with your death.”

I debated with myself for a beat while I stood in the doorway. “I don’t know if I’m that strong.” I glanced over my shoulder as Wernicke’s chair moved and I could see him watching me as I turned away.

“More than anything I want rest,” his mechanical voice sounded worn, tired. “Billy will not let me die. He could never imagine how cruel this is. I only want to die.”

When I was out of Wernicke’s chamber, the door gave a soft hiss as it shut. Directly in front of me was the plate indicating the Morphgenic Engine chamber, and an arrow indicating my left. It seemed like hours ago I had come through, exhausted and apathetic to what it could mean. The concept at the time vague, especially after reading the complex formula left on the dry erase board. All those chemicals left in the room of freezers. They were added accordingly to a stewing pot of poison, and somehow, someone managed to misread the formula. Good job.

As the doctor had promised the doorway was open into that section of the lab. On the glistening floor I could make out the same trail marks here, as those I had noted curving into Wernicke’s room. I looked up, and tucked in the upper edge of the corridors wall, was a camera. It faced forward, sentry of the tunnel.

I had no idea what to expect, aside from the limited hindsight I had if/when Billy decided to attack. My breath hitched, I don’t know why. Maybe I sensed the malice and death, a heavy fog lingering throughout the facility. It coiled about the living, struggling to drag my body into the rot and forgotten shadows of the halls.

Billy was a child with a damaged mind. Did he realize what he had done? Dream therapy. Maybe not. But he was still a dangerous and wild creature, a force of nature set loose on the hapless denizens, whom had no capacity to defend themselves once he was loose. It was impossible for him to stop.

I took a breath and stepped through the door, expecting at any moment to be eviscerated and thrown against the walls. To have my skin splint open, and my brain matter smeared along the ceiling. But nothing happened. The silence loomed dark and ominous in the corridor as expected, my heart pumped as my mind pulsed. I could only sense the lurking threat twisting in my skull. At the far end of the hall a vivid aide-mémoire of what I would inherit upon failure, the red Rorschach spread across the wall. If I squinted just right and tilt my head, it looked like a man waving.

The camera jarred my thoughts when it buzzed, its image feed still recorded but the battery for the NV was done. I could only gamble that the infrared had enough power, to pick up an image of the Walrider if it approached. It was all I had.

I first approached the doors on my left, and opened them up into a shower block. The soft patter of water continued to run, at a glance I couldn’t decide where the sound came from. There could have been no running water at all, and the sound was all in my ears.

In the far corner across from me, the body of a Murkoff researcher was slumped against lockers. Shower stalls lined the back wall, and the wall to my right was equipped with some sinks. I crept in and checked through each stall, finding very little but the remains of people. They must have crammed in here when it all went to hell, but either became trapped in panic or couldn’t find a way out that wasn’t full of murder. This idea was supported by a scientist crammed at the back of one stall, a broken camera clutched in his stiff hands. The night features of the camera were now understood by me, but it apparently did him no favor. The batteries had been used up.

I stopped to stare into one stall, at the running water and the bloody remains of a body. I couldn’t recall where, but I had seen this image before. Blood down the drain. Except the red was gone, replaced with the gooey puss of the swollen guts. The water collected in a puddle beside them, and nudged the inflated mass periodically.

I turned away and crossed the room to a second set of doors, just beyond the sinks. Plaques on the wall warned employees to Wash Hands Thoroughly. Maybe at the time it would have made a difference. Maybe something contaminated ‘Billy’ and that’s why everyone was dead.

And maybe that was full of shit.

Two doors. Two doors in and out of the shower room. I tried the second, and made sure the knob wouldn’t lock or stick if I had to come back through.

The next set of doors directly across from the showers, led into the cafeteria of the resident scientists. I entered a door on my right, but found it only directed through the food preparation area. Industrial shelves lined the walls, loaded with large canisters of food among other provisions. A few steps in and there was another slew of corpses shredded over the walls and floor, guts had dried in odd twists over the tray rail. I climbed over it and out into the main diner. Rows of tables had been shoved around, the usual slaughter adorned all furniture. I noted there were fewer bodies down here than on the upper floors, but that would make sense.

When Billy began attacking the scientists, no one was hanging around asking questions. They knew what the swarm was capable of, once the first person was killed. The place shut down to prevent his escape, but it only trapped everyone down here. Those that did reach the upper floors weren’t keeping track of the patients, and it only got worse when they got loose.

Security lock down. Once monsters like Chris Walker, the twins, and every other murderous lunatic got out on the loose, it was only a matter of time before the staff succumbed to their fate.

I could see it unfold right here, as though it was only yesterday. I walked around the room imagining the scientists seated, talking, comparing notes. Stressed. Project Walrider was at a dead end, many of the staff had already disappeared. Then suddenly death, sirens flashing, containment breach. The panic they felt when people began exploding, the realization that all their hard work had inevitably created something that they couldn’t control. The primary exits blocked, blood was everywhere and they were unable to see the enemy, couldn’t know where it would come from next. Not everyone fit on the elevator. Those that didn’t make it hid themselves away, listening as their colleagues shrieked the moment before they painted every surface in vivid color. Those that survived the first wave, spent the last hours of their life in fear, wondering when it would be their turn to die.

I stopped in the hall as the screeching ceased. What hope did I have to survive? The pain buried itself in the back of my head and my vision distorted. If I hid in the dark corners of the labs, I would die. If I fought back, I would die.

No. No, I would not die here. I promised myself I’d get the story and walk out of those doors, and I damn well planned to do just that. If Billy couldn’t catch me first, then I would use whatever means was at my disposal to put him down. What mattered most was that I would not stop until I was dead, and I could not stop until I was dead.

I had no other choice but to go through with it. I would do this. Whatever it took, I would kill Billy.

The last door on my left was open, just a bathroom, a dead end. Walls coated in gore, red and black stained the mirrors. I simply closed the room and moved on. The sirens were getting louder, alerting me to the presence of the swarm. At the halls end was a plaque informing the left corridor to the Morphogenic chamber.

I took the right, my shoes sticking to the liquified bodies of more employees, most must have been in this area when Billy attacked. Every few feet there was more blood, more sections and chunks and human pieces. If there was any truth behind ores in the soil enhancing kinetic energies, then Mount Massive would become one of the most haunted Asylums in the world.

The hall ended and I stepped through the available door, the room was filled with additional cabinets and more freezers. One of the reinforced freezer doors was left open and its cold air filled the small space of the room. Numerous vials had fallen out, their contents spreading through the sack of innards marking another death. Frozen icicles of red filled the freezer and gave half the room an ominous maroon glow.

I recalled notes concerning patients that had to be killed. When test subjects began to resist their sedatives, lethal injection would have been made the mandatory procedure. Murkoff wouldn’t risk creating something with volatile tendencies. That couldn’t be killed.

Billy was a failed experiment. Murkoff would have tried to dispose of him discreetly, then move on. But if he was somehow aware of this, then his retaliation was only natural. It sounded solid for turning him into the mass murdering, child monster that he was.

Dr. Wernicke kept the details of what happened to himself, but I did have the camera.

My hands were shaking. I had trouble keeping the camera steady, always checking the visor and only satisfied that the atmosphere was calm. But it was borrowed time, I wanted to avoid it, but I couldn’t. I checked the open hall waiting before me. Markers set on the corners, contrasting white walls with yellow black warning tape. Vents overhead, cables and pipes lining the wall. No distortions, no hallucinations, no eerie shrieks. It was all borrowed time.

Time was my enemy.

I proceeded, the harsh alarm drilling through my thoughts growing louder with each step I took. Was it the swarm, or was it broken? I didn’t know. I wouldn’t know until I reached it.

The plate on the wall read Morphogenic Chamber, and indicated ahead with a red and white arrow. I paused to rub the stiffness in my eyes and checked the visor once more. Nothing but noise and static. How was it exactly I could tell when it was present? I wasn’t certain, only that I could feel it. It felt malign and hostile. That creeping chill fortified my resolve. I would do this, I could. I would kill Billy and leave this place. Just leave. No distance, no nothing. No rest or healing, just step through the exit. Seeing the exit at long last might just kill me, I don’t know anymore.

I took a slow breath and continued, tying not to view the red, the pieces. Not anymore. No more death. Focus on what needs to be done. Those marks on the floor, the ones I knew so well. They trail through the red like they were meant to be.

Wernicke wanted me dead. I knew this without a doubt. I was not supposed to be here, and he didn’t want me mucking in Murkoff’s shortcomings. Whether he foresaw their failure or accepted it. I was a journalist sated by the knowledge of this place, and his involvement in it. The man was legally dead in the government’s eyes, but I had video footage to prove otherwise. Along with his confessions of what Murkoff had hoped to achieve, and what it had done.

It was, as we say in my line of work, the scoop of the century.

A short corridor to my right led to a purge chamber, it was already locked due to protocol. Above a light flashed its irritating color, while the alarm whirred. Someone’s torso had been shoved between a series of tanks parked there, or they were ripped out of the space when they found the doors locked.

I covered my ear as I turned away, trying to focus. As of yet I had not picked up on the swarm, if it even was in this area. A plaque on the wall identified this as B Block, the Morphogenic wing. I stood beside a tank of liquid nitrogen, doubting if I would be able to detect when it did appear. What if it could hide? What if it was at the end of the corridor right now waiting for me, and I didn’t realize it? I wasn’t expecting myself to just walk into a lab and smash everything up, it’d be nice, don’t get me wrong. But it wouldn’t be that simple, and I wouldn’t fuckin kid myself about that.

Or he didn’t know I was here. That was a possibility. The swarm could be camped at the end of the first tunnel I had stumbled into, waiting for me. If he believed I was dead set on just strolling out. The key word here was ‘if.’ No evidence to prove otherwise, no reason to let my guard down.

My heart thudded in my chest as I neared the tunnels end. Three sets of doors greeted me, two double and a single on my left. I took a wild guess and decided the one straight ahead, would lead to the Morphogenic Chamber. I tried to mentally prepare myself for what would come. What was it I would need to do to shut it down? How did the life support systems function? Was there a switch in the room? What did the Morphogenic Engine entail exactly? It was self-perpetuating, that’s as far as I knew.

I focused on the body ahead, a thick pool of red stretched across the floor and wall. Death awaited me. If I failed, if I stopped, I would die. I took a breath and braced my nerves as I moved towards the doors—

I didn’t make it.

A soft hissing, or wail enveloped my senses and I turned to the doorway on my left as a misty figure slid into my view. I stared into the visor as I backed away and checked the NV feed. I already knew what it was before the name entered my brain.

Billy either perceived my intentions or saw my presence as a threat. Whatever his conclusion meant, one thing was for certain. He would not let me get near the Morphogenic Engine.

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast fanfiction #outlast novelized

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toots-senpai · 6 years ago

Text

a quick chase through the forest

author: @toots-senpai

fandom: creepypasta

pairing: eyeless jack x reader

rating: R [18+]

warnings: pure smut, blood mention, concussion sex

a/n: ---

MINORS DNI

i don't except follows from ageless blogs, you will be blocked!!

your heart is pulsing as you run, you can hear it along with the twigs crunching under your feet and the paranoia kicking into your veins. pain is surging up through your calfs as you continue darting. you didn’t want to turn around, you knew he’d be there, close behind and running without effort as he chuckled at your exhausted form running. you dont remember what really lead up to this moment, him chasing you, you being the prey and him the predator. hes lurring you to rely on him and only him, by tainting and destroying you with every chance he gets. your screams will go unheard as the figure grabs you and pushes you against a large tree in the foggy forest and runs his hand under your skirt and into your panties pushing his fingers into your cunt making you draw out a moan.

“n-no-!“ you gasped trying to push back against him off the tree as he chuckled pressing his hard on to your asscheek .

“Caught you~” He laughed as you arched against him while his fingers started thrusting into you roughly. a pleasured scream ripped through your throat as he pressed your body into the tree. with his weight completely holding you up and his hand torturing your cunt you relaxed onto him knowing there was no getting away from his torturous seduction. your whimpers grew louder as you bucked your hips against the hand holding onto the masked man’s neck as your cunt dripped off his fingers and down his wrist. you were met with a delighted growl from his lips and thrown down onto the forest floor. once your head hit the ground, you immediately felt your head start to pound and vision start to spin blood running down the side of your head. you were dragged onto his lap, him grinding harshly onto your wet panties, the head of his hard erection pressing against your clothed hole at times. he started rocking against you and whimpers started becoming moans, even through the pounding headache was attempting to lull you into unconsciousness. his husky groans left his throat as he rocked against your cunt with his cock sending your pussy tightening around nothing and you bucking your hips up giving him direct access to your slippery cunt, his hardened erection threatening to rip you open. your moans intertwined with his as he continued rocking against you. “stupid whore is going to be dicked down in the forest. where everyone can see your glistening cunt and your pathetic moans as i fuck you good? huh, bitch?~” he teased as you just moaned your hair sticking from your face from the sweat and humidity of the forest. your hearts harsh pounding inside your chest echoed in your ears as he ripped your uniform open, letting the buttons pop off the blouse and exposing your chest to the perverted man that took his hand from your panties and running them up to your breasts. he grunted taking off your bra and the rest of your blouse putting it on the ground under you. his long parasitic tongue came from his lips and wrapped around your hardened nipples as his hands went to work on sliding your panties off from under your skirt and safely into the pocket of the back of his jeans. your moans seemed a bit distant in the empty woods but echoed enough for the man to hear it and start rubbing your exposed clit earning more delightful moans from your ears making him let out a delicious groan into your ear. “does the whore want to be filled with daddy’s cum? does she want my cock stuffed deep into her cunt and her mouth filled with my tongue, hm? you wanna be daddy’s. little. fucking. whore?~” He said harshly dry humping your cunt making your tits bounce and moans fall from your lips as your nails digged into the skin of his neck from pleasure.

“a-ah! yes daddy!~” you moaned as he pulled you into a harsh passion filled kiss while pulling his erection from it’s confines and lining his cock to slam into you making your toes curl. “o-oH! jACK!” you moaned as he chuckled rubbing his thumb roughly against your clit snapping his hips to yours roughly. his belt buckle lightly clinking against your thigh as he watched your first orgasm hit you as he kept his fast pace making you twitch a little under him. the stamina of this man has always been insane so the rough snapping of his hips wasn’t so much of a surprise to you. you muttered a profanity through your cock filled orgasmic daze as you gripped onto his shoulder and ran your nails across his back as his cock digged against your g-spot for the second time making your moans choked and strangled.

“you’re gripping my cock so well with that pretty pussy~” he said running a hand to your throat and gripping making your pussy tighten ever more around his girth. you squirmed under him until he lifted your legs up and thrusted deeper causing your jaw to drop and drool to run down your jaw. your body twitched as you came again around his cock, the loud squelching of your cunt never faltering to silence in the dense quiet forest. feeling the wetness between your thighs, he kept going slamming his cock into your cunt rocking your body as you pulled the blouse from behind you. rocking against the thrusts, you pulled off his mask with a rip of the velcro and dragged him down intertwining tongues as he drilled deep into your tight cunt grunting and letting his first orgasm take over him. his hot cum spilling into your cunt as he thrusted faster chasing his orgasm with a hand around your breast. though the air was sticky around you two, you could still see your hot air blowing into the dense fog around you. sweat and forest condensation traveled across your open skin and dripped down from your skin onto the ground. sweat was evident on his forehead and dripped down slightly as he kept digging deeper into your cunt keeping ‘eye contact’, his forehead tipped against yours, catching your red and swollen lips into a chaste kiss every now and again. You tugged at the sweater that now looked incredibly sweaty on him and watched him pull away from your body, cock still buried deep within your cunt as he lifted his hoodie over his head. your eyes quickly darted over his skin as his muscles flexed as he tossed the hoodie. you admired watching him take his tightly fitted shirt off as well, running your fingers up his sweat dripped chest and down to his v-line before gripping some of the cock that wasn’t fully buried. his hip twitched as you teased his shaft with your fingernails and delicate fingers. he whined a bit pulling out softly, your juices dripping off his cock and going to pull down the rest of his pants.

“W-wait.” You said feeling dizzy and let your arms fall as he glared at you stopping dragging his pants down his hips. You looked at the small pool of blood that has dripped from you head in front of you and tried to keep awake “I- I wanna go back to the cabin. It’s too hot out here and my head is hurtin-“

“are you kidding right now dollface? my dick is out, hard as a rock and your pussy is dripping with my cum, and you want to stop now, because ‘it’s hot?’, hm?”

“Well.. no, you banged my head against the fucking ground and i feel like i’m going to pass out-“

“shut the fuck up sweetheart, deal wit-“

“oh fuck you. you know what, i hope i pass out on this stupid forest ground, and bleed out and die. eat fucking shit and die you corpse-” you pouted looking away from the demon in front of you sleep threatening to take you out, your walls relaxing around his hardened cunt making him grunt out of annoyance as he started pulling out. your tight cunt gripped his cock the two of you moaning as he pulled completely out of your sryupy cunt, a small string of your arousal keeping the two of you connected. with a content hum he grabbed the string from his cock with his finger pushing it back into your cunt til you felt his knuckle against your hot, pulsing clit. you whined your legs twitching as he pulled his finger back out. he sighed grabbing your skirt and pulling the sweaty material down to cover your arousal and grabbed his hoodie, harshly slipping it on your naked skin. He zipped himself up slipping back on his damp tee and threw you over his shoulder. you went to bark at him for treating you too roughly but he dug his fingers deep into your dripping cunt, his fingers make scissoring motions causing you to moan and go limp against his strong broad shoulder.

“complain once on the walk home, and a concussion wont be the only reason you’ll have to visit the table tonight.”

#creepypasta #smut #eyeless jack #eyeless jack smut #eyeless jack x reader smut

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 5 years ago

Text

I Scream for Ice Cream

Summary: Tony falls asleep in the lab and has a nightmare. One that involves buying his favorite spider-kid copious amounts of ice cream and then... Well, the end results have him jerking awake with a shout. Peter tries to be comforting but in the end, all he can do it laugh... [This is not going to go how you think it's going to go.]

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff and Humor, Nightmares, Precious Peter Parker, Random and Short... ....

Word Count: 2123

Link to Post on AO3 I Scream for Ice Cream- happyaspie

"Hey, Mr. Stark? Can we get some ice cream?", Peter enthusiastically inquired from the passenger side seat of Tony's favorite Audi.

Seeing as he couldn't think of anything else that required his attention at the moment, Tony shrugged his shoulders and pulled in to the next ice cream shop they came across. "Sure, kiddo. What do you want?", he asked as the little bell on the door rang out to notify the employees that they had entered.

"Can I get a double scoop?", Peter returned with a grin and Tony was quick to nod his head. The kid could have asked for a quadruple scoop and he would have been fine with it. He knew the kid could eat it and even if he couldn't the cost of a heaping pile of the frozen confection was like pennies to him.

As soon as the young man reached the counter, Peter placed his order for two scoops of double-chocolate-chunk in a cone while Tony requested a single serving of chocolate chip in a cup. It didn't take long for the man to collect their order and once the tab was paid, they walked out the door. Then, just as they reached the car, Peter leaned in to lick his cone but as he did so, the stacked portions went tumbling to the ground with an audible splat.

"Whoops.", Peter sheepishly spoke as he looked down at his ice cream that was now melting into a pool at his feet.

Tony rolled his eyes and waved his hand towards the nearby trashcan. "Just throw that away. I'll go get you a new one.", he flippantly replied and began to wander back into the shop where he purchased a duplicate of the kid's previous order. Then, on a whim, he grabbed a stack full of napkins on his way back out. "Here you go.", he said as he handed over the cone to his favorite spiderling. "Let's take it for a walk, though. I'm not sure I trust you with that in my car.", he continued with a smirk.

Chuckling in response, Peter carefully licked around the cone where the chocolate was starting to drip and accepted the wad of napkins the man was holding out for him to take. "That makes sense.", he said with a smile and started down the sidewalk.

As they continued on their way, Tony watched as the kid oh so cautiously ate his ice cream and smiled. It was so hot out that it was already dripping over his hand and no amount of licking or napkins was keeping up. It was turning into a huge syrupy mess. "Are you getting any of that in your mouth?", he teased eliciting a small frustrated noise from his young mentee's mouth.

"I'm trying, Mr. Stark but it's really hot out here and it's melting faster than I can eat it.", Peter explained with indignance.

Shaking his head, Tony looked down into his own cup and saw that his treat was fairing much better. It just wasn't making a mess. He ended up eating the last few semi-solid bites with the pink plastic spoon before tipping it back and drinking what was left while Peter continued to struggle. "Look, how about we ditch the cone, you wash up and I'll get you a something in a bowl.", he suggested and could see the wheels in the boy's head turning.

After some thought, the kid reluctantly agreed and they ended up backtracking to the same store, where Tony made a third purchase. The ice cream shop employee had just stuck the spoon into the cup when Peter exited the bathroom looking far less sticky. Nodding in satisfaction, Tony handed over the cup and for some unknown reason, they decided to resume their walk rather than sitting inside the air-conditioned building until the snack had been consumed.

Peter walked ahead, peeking into all of the shop windows, commenting on the various items he saw inside between bites as Tony followed causally behind. He'd just paused to look at something himself when he heard Peter start shouting and looked up in surprise. The kid was standing there waving the hand that wasn't holding onto the ice cream filled paper cup towards several pigeons who seemed to have decided that they too wanted something to cool down with. The boy was only able to dodge them for so long before the brightly colored container was being dropped, landing on its head, thus rendering the remainder of the treat inside inedible.

"You're just not to meant to have any ice cream today, huh, kiddo.", Tony howled with laughter as Peter frowned back at him. "I swear this kind of stuff only happens to you."

Peter huffed and kicked the cup aside, startling the birds that had happily surrounded it and pouted. "It's fine. I got to have some of it anyway. We can just go home."

"Nope. You wanted ice cream. You're going to get ice cream. We'll make it a milkshake this time.", Tony said, then walked into the cafe that just so happened to be right there and ordered a large chocolate shake. "The good news is, you can have this in the car. It has a lid. What could possibly happen?", he teased as he passed the handspun milkshake over with a smile.

Though he soon found out exactly what could possibly happen when they got almost back to the car and Peter tripped over his untied shoelaces, sending the cup flying. "I give up.", the kid grumbled as he picked himself up and leaned down to tie his laces. "You're right. I'm not meant to have ice cream today."

"Yeah, well I don't give up. Look, the ice cream shop we started in is right there. We'll give it another try. Maybe this time we'll sit down and let you finish it in there. No heat, birds or untied laces.", Tony suggested as he looked down at his disheartened mentee. "Maybe we'll buy you some light up velcro shoes while we're out.", he added with a playful grin.

Rolling his eyes, Peter stood up and crossed the distance between himself and his mentor. "It's fine. You don't have to buy me anything else.", he said, ignoring the obvious jab.

Tony scoffed and threw his arm over Peter's shoulders, leading him right back into the small shop they'd started in. "I'm a billionaire, kid. I think I can afford to buy you another bowl of ice cream.", he said as he deposited the kid at one of the white, cast-iron parlor tables and made his way back to the counter.

"One more time. Double scoop, double-chocolate-whatever in a cup.", Tony told the man as he chuckled lightly at the situation. The ice cream there wasn't cheap and he was pretty sure his patronage had just paid the stores light-bill at minimum. Not that he was complaining. It was good ice cream and the place was nicely kept. Besides, he had boatloads of money to cover the costs. With that in mind, he strode up to the register and ran his card through the machine. 'Declined' Giving it very little thought, he wiped the magnetic stripe on the back of the card off with a napkin and ran it again. 'Declined'

"There must be some sort of a mistake.", he mumbled under his breath before pulling out another card. 'Declined.' Then he pulled out another, also declined. Followed by at least three more, all instantly declined.

"Looks like you've hit the bottom of the bank account.", the man behind the counter taunted and Tony could feel his heart-beat quickening as his breath grew short.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.", he whispered in horror as he started to rapidly type commands into his phone. While he waited for the information he'd requested to come up, he glanced across the parlor at his smiling companion. Then with a hard swallow, he looked back at his phone. 'Current balance $3.14' All he could do was scream.

...and that's how he woke up. Screaming.

"Are you okay, Mr. Stark?", Peter asked having been startled from his task by the man's shouting.

Having already jerked his neck up off of his arms, Tony wildly searched the room for confirmation that it had all been nothing more than a dream. "Yeah.", he finally panted out, once it had registered that he was in his lab and not in some over-priced ice cream parlor. Then just to be on the safe side, he hurridly checked his bank balance and stocks, finding them to be just as he would have expected. Relief washed over him as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh, thank God."

Giving the man a scrutinizing look, Peter closed the distance between himself and his mentor. "Did you... have a nightmare?", he asked, his brows wrinkled with concern. While the man had told him he'd had nightmares in the past, he'd never actually been there to witness one before.

Tony cut his eyes towards Peter and sighed. The adrenalin was starting to wear off and he was finally beginning to catch his breath. "Something like that.", he responded as he ran his hand over his sweaty forehead. God, it was hot in the lab. He really needed to check the cooling system in there.

"Oh. Well, do you want to talk about it? You always tell me it helps to talk about it.", Peter questioned because that seemed like the right thing to do. As many times as the man had been there for him, he wanted to be there to return the favor.

Now feeling ever so slightly flustered by his reaction, Tony tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "It was nothing. I'm fine. I don't even know where that came from.", he honestly replied. He had no idea why his sub-conscious would come up with something like that.

Feeling more intrigued than ever by the man's evasive answers, Peter tilted his head to the side and smiled with curiosity. "If it was nothing, then why can't you tell me?"

While he knew he absolutely could have made something up and that Peter would believe him, he couldn't bring himself to do it. So, as frustrating and marginally embarrassing as it was, he broke down spat out the gist of it. "I went broke okay! I tried to buy something and my card was declined. All of them.", he said with a roll of his eyes that turned to a half-hearted grumble when the kid began to cackle beside him. "Stop laughing! It was... horrifying.", he exclaimed but now that the teenager was laughing he was having a hard time not laughing, himself.

Nodding his head, Peter tried to get a hold of himself. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark it's just that... that's so extra.", he said before losing it and started to laugh all over again.

For a few seconds, Tony let the kid have his fun. Then he peered towards his watch and sighed. He'd not realized how long he'd been asleep. "Oh, hush you.", he began with a smile. "Why did you let me fall asleep on you like that anyway? Look, it's already time for me to drive you home."

Peter shrugged his shoulders and sat down in the chair directly beside his mentor. "I figured if you fell asleep your head on your desk then you must have been pretty tired. Besides, I had it under control. See? They work now.", he said as he snapped his most current web-shooter design onto his wrists and shot and web across the room.

As he watched the web float down from where it hadn't attached its self to anything, Tony smiled with pride and remorse. He was supposed to have helped with that. "Good job, Buddy. I'm still sorry I konked out on you instead of hanging out with you though."

Not feeling the least bit daunted by this mentor's impromptu nap, Peter looked at the man with a huge grin. "It's fine. You can make it up to me by buying me some ice cream on the way home.", he declared with a nod of his head. It was typically pretty easy to get the man to agree to buy him some sort of treat during their trip back to Queens but the way the man was looking at him with wide eyes didn't go unnoticed.

"Nope. No way. No how. I'll buy you absolutely anything but that.", Tony promptly replied and when Peter raised his eyebrows at him he crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "Don't ask and I'll buy you a few slices of pie instead."

______________________________

Author's Note: This story was written at the request of my fifteen-year-old son who wanted to see Tony go broke buying Peter ice cream. Seeing as that was too audacious to be 'true' I made it a nightmare. 😂

#Marvel #MCU #ao3fic #tony stark and peter parker #peter parker #tony stark #attempts at humor #cross-post

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modestlyabsurd · 5 years ago

Text

Humble Beginnings Pt. 2 (Loki x Reader)

Ever since that chilly Tuesday evening, Loki's been warmer inside. It's reminiscent of the afterglow of a fire, when the flames have calmed down but the heat continues to radiate. A soft, vermilion warmth touching him from within.

Among other things, such as embarrassment, desire and intrigue, Loki felt a sense of accomplishment. Little by little, he's determined to break her out of her shell of shyness. And it seems, little by little, that it just may be working.

That smile. That underlying confidence and innocence that she possesses. Her tastes. Her mind. He wished to see more of it. The progress of his new mission made him happy.

So outwardly happy, that the therapist inquired about it the next day during their session. "You have a really positive energy about you lately. Has anything changed that you can think of?"

Loki didn't want to disclose his feelings just yet. While the desire to share in such a magical thing was in fact present, the selfish side of him wanted to bask in his own mind a while longer. And ... in truth, he didn't want to get in over his head.

He must come to terms with it. As of now, it could be nothing. It could merely be a chemical reaction of this Midgardian medication to his Asgardian-Jötun brain. It could also truly be something.

Or, it could just be a childish fantasy.

Unable to deny the accusation, he replies, "Must be something in the drinks."

"Oh, from that coffee shop you frequent? I have actually heard good things about it. As a matter of fact, Mr. Parker is who first told me about it. Down on 5th, right?"

"That's the one. Peter told me about it as well."

"What's your usual?"

"My purchase?" The doctor nods. "Well, it depends on the occasion. The smoked fish sandwich is quite good. That's if I'm rather peckish, but on a normal day I'll just have a hot chocolate. Maybe a black coffee if I need a - what do you call it - a 'pick me up'?"

"Yep. Good to know, I'll have to try it sometime soon."

No changes in Loki's dosages since everything looks to be working wonderfully. He's feeling well, making excellent progress with decreasing negative thoughts each day. He is dismissed until Friday.

After stepping out of the office into the heat of the compound, the floor thuds beneath his feet sending a wave through his legs. He jumps away curiously, before hearing muffled groaning from the level below.

Clumsy oafs, he thinks to himself, striding to the elevator to make sure whoever created the thud is okay.

The next floor down is the third floor, also known as the training level. Not surprising that such a commotion would come from here. The elevator allows him off and he can now hear not the groans of pain he thought before, but unintelligible frustrated ranting. He follows it down the hall to the gym, where he finds a figure crouched on the ceiling.

Yes, crouched on the ceiling.

A head pops down from the figure and Loki sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Hey Loki!" Peter chirps with an upside down smile. "Check it out! I'm testing out these new sticky shoes for my suit."

"Mm, I can see that. What caused the noise?"

"Oh, you heard that?" Peter nervously laughs, "Sorry, I fell. They're still just a prototype. But I've almost got it down to a science!"

Loki shakes his head at the savage perseverance of the spiderling. "One such as you shouldn't take too many falls to the head."

Peter dismounts from the ceiling with a velcro-like ripping sound from his shoes, casually landing on his feet. "Everyone else says the same thing. Which is why I came in here - where the floors are padded. No worries." He takes off the bright red shoes and places them sticky-side up on a weight bench. "Why are you smiling?"

Loki freezes. Was he smiling? And yes, why? Now that it's been brought to his attention he can't even remember what he was thinking about -

"No no no, don't stop smiling! You're thinking about something! Tell me what!" Peter's began furiously jumping rope and begging Loki with his eyes to tell him why he's so happy!

"I - "

"Wait! Don't tell me!" the spiderling exclaims, "Let me guess. Did you ... Did you beat Thor in an arm wrestling match?"

He smirks. "That's wishful thinking if I've ever heard it."

"Hey, it could happen!" says Peter, an unsteady voice with every hop on the rope, and even more so when he begins cross jumping. "Come on, just tell me! I'm terrible at guessing games."

Rolling his eyes at the fact that he did what he's about to reveal, his eyes fall to the nearby sticky shoes. "I took your advice. I spoke to her. And it went ... well." This time, Loki's consciously aware of the reddened grin that's come upon him.

About a month ago, Peter recommended the little coffee shop on 5th Street, claiming to know one of the baristas. When Loki visited the shop for the first time, he met the girl.

She was amidst coworkers that day and instead of managing the entire shop like recently, she lingered toward the kitchen. Loki barely caught glimpses of her as she worked preparing drinks. She'd call their names and place them on the pickup counter, and that's when their gaze would meet. Bright, beautiful eyes that he could drown in. Skin glistening from working in the steamy environment. The gentlest hand, the kindest nature.

She called his name. The sound ignited something in Loki; at that moment he found he'd been staring at her when their eyes met.

He went to retrieve his hot chocolate. "Thank you, dear. What's your name?"

"Y/N."

Then it clicked. You're the one Peter knew. Oh, how he loved coincidences. Not that he believed in them.

"Y/N?" he tested the name on his tongue and very much enjoyed how it felt. "I was told by Peter Parker that you make the best hot chocolates in Manhattan."

Shocked, you squirmed and cast your gaze down, flashing a beautiful smile. "I wouldn't go that far," you giggled.

Loki took a sip of his drink, and not only for the sake of flattery, but in truth realized that Peter was right. "I would," he winked.

She broke away in a fit of blushed shyness even that day. He loved it, unexplainably.

By now Peter's stopped jumping, his jaw hanging open rather comically. "Really?! See? I told you that's all you had to do!"

"Yes, and I think I'd like to talk to her more. But I can't seem to get her there ... She's quite shy of me," he says quizzically.

"Did you ask her out?"

No. Like the fool I am, he thinks.

He should've. But he himself became rather shy and flustered last night. He considered himself lucky to have even spoken to her at all, jabbering on with whatever was at the tip of his tongue; not having planned on how to ask for an outing. Afraid she would turn him down, anyway.

He swallows. "Not exactly. I don't think it was the right time."

"But you said it went well, right?" Peter asks. Just as Loki nods in confirmation, his pocket watch vibrates in his jeans. Twice, meaning it was time to take his afternoon medication. "I can help you. Ah - if you don't mind, that is. Or if you need me to - or, y'know."

Wetting his lips he slowly asks, "And what would that entail? Your assistance in this."

"Me talking to her. Letting her know how nice you are, and that she should give you a chance. I wouldn't do anything stupid."

Loki hesitates. The last thing he wants to do is scare her away. He'd rather keep things in this blissful little box that they're in now, with the little interactions and tidbits of progress with her, than to lose even that.

But he does feel something about her. Attraction at the least, but the desire to know her, that's what he feels. He can see it in her eyes, what a beautiful person she is. He wants to bring it out. Can he really achieve that at the current pace? Of course not, not before someone else comes along and does it in his place.

...

That cannot happen. He can't let that happen.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt."

hahey, is anyone still here? long time no see pals

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai

#loki x reader #loki imagine #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #thor #thor odinson #thor ragnarok #tom hiddleston #the avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel #mcu #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #modestlyabsurd

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fatandnerdy30 · 6 years ago

Text

The Itsy Bitsy Spider 8

Peter really felt invisible in his hiding spot. He was currently hiding under the couch in the living room, holding on to the leg, hanging above the floor. The last hiding place Morgan had chosen wasn't very good, he had found her in minutes hiding in the hall closet. When she started sniffling, Peter did the only thing he could do. He said that if he hid really good and she could find him, he would allow her to play dress up with him for a week. But, there was no way he was allowing a little girl near him with a dress.

So, he had chosen the best place in the house, that she could reach, because she would cry foul if he was up on the ceiling or something. As he waited, he felt the floor trembling so much, he could have sworn there was an earthquake, his skin and the back of his head crawling as if twenty thousand ants were on him. The trembling got worse when he saw Morgan's feet go running by. "Uncle Rhodey!" she jumped into the man's arms, giggling. "Oof! Hello to you too, sweetheart. Where's your dad?" He put the girl down so she could greet the rest of the team. "He's still sleeping. He stayed up late with Peter." Rhodey gave her a confused look."Who's Peter?" he asked while walking to the couch. The teen was able to keep hold of the leg of the couch, his fingers gripping the wood to make sure he could stay. That was until someone literally crashed onto the couch, and he lost his grip, falling with a yelp as he hit the floor. Peter groaned as he got up, shaking his head. He didn't know why he didn't sense someone coming. Probably due to so many giant people in the room at the same time, and he wasn't used to his new senses. Peter slowly made his way from under the couch, patting some of the dust from out of his hair then stopped at the smell of Italian leather and turned to see a polished dress shoe right next to him. The boy looked up to see the shoe's mate high in the air above him, resting on someone's knee. What was going on? Who were these people? Suddenly he heard a voice that he recognized as Captain America and froze. Peter was in the same room as the Avengers team. The actual Avengers! Sure he had already met half of them, but the entire team was just steps away from him!? It drove his little nerdy heart into overdrive. He had to see them! The boy bit his lip and jumped up, gripping the edge of the low bearing couch. Using the threading, the boy climbed as quick as he could, glad right now for his sticky ability. Just as Peter was reaching the cushion, the leg that was resting on the man's knee moved directly over him. Peter gasped and waited for the impact, but luckily leg didn't crush him. However, it did knock the boy down. Peter reached out and grabbed onto the gray dress pants-who wears dress clothes casually?- and felt himself slam into the man's leg, the muscles stiffening at the feeling. Rhodey felt something on the back of his leg and reached down to scratch. He felt a lump and paled, sitting up. What was it?! Was it a spider? Please don't let it be a spider! He felt it crawling. "You alright, Rhodey?" Steve asked, coming over. "I think there's a spider on my pant leg!" the man squeaked, knowing he was acting out of character, but he HATED spiders! "Let me see," Wanda came over and crouched down, spotting a flash of red fabric. The last time she checked, spider's did not wear clothing. With a curious look, she made Rhodey turn and was met face to face with small boy wearing a Thor outfit. Peter squeezed his eyes shut when he felt his skin crawling so much he felt sick, plus the man's movements didn't help. When nothing happened, slowly he opened one eye and found himself staring at a woman's shocked face, a woman he knew very well from seeing her on his poster every morning when he woke up in is room. The Scarlet Witch had was staring at him in shock. He couldn't move, too scared to do anything but stare. Suddenly he was wrapped in red light and he let out a shout and held onto the man's pants, feeling the material rip a bit in his grasp, until finally he let go and just let it happen. "Peter?" Steve's voice sounded angry, but also worried. "What were you doing on Rhodey's pants?" Said man turned. "Who's Peter? He better not be the team fricking tarantula, or I swear I will....oh my god." "Aunt Wanda!" Morgan giggled. "You found Peter fair and square. Now I guess you're hers for a week!" Peter turned white at that, still hanging in the air. "Pl-please don't drop me," he stuttered. "What are you all talking so loud about?" Mr. Stark's annoyed voice came from the hallway. "Anyone seen Morgan? I need to ask her about something." Then his daughter came racing around the corner of the counter, jumping at him. "Daddy! Peter and I were playing hide and seek, but he keeps winning, until Aunt Wanda found him!" "Oof! Morgan, Peter was...wait, hide and seek.... Nobody move!" Tony didn't register what the girl had said right away, flying into panic mode. "Check the bottom of your shoes. You're in big trouble, young lady. Everyone check the bottoms of your shoes." "It's okay, Tony," Steve said, holding his hand out for Wanda to drop the boy into. He was heavier than he thought he would be. "Apparently he was hiding near the floor and got caught on Rhodey's pants." Peter watched from his position on Mr. Roger's palm. "I..I was hiding under the couch," the boy said. "What the hell is that!?" Bucky asked, pointing at him with a metal finger, eyes wide. It had been a few days since he was rescued and this was the first time he was surrounded by hundred foot tall adults, and it was kind of intimidating, even from waist high. "What is he?" Wanda asked as she bent down, smiling, her Russian accent heavy this early in the morning. She wiggled her fingers at the boy in a form of hello. Peter could only wave before Mr. Roger's took a step, causing him to fall back against his wall-like stomach. "Where do you want him?" the man asked Mr. Stark, who pointed at the counter. Seconds later, Peter tumbled out of the man's grip onto the cold marble. "You are in big trouble, too," Mr. Stark's stern voice came from above Peter. "Tony?" Bucky asked as he came closer to look at the small boy, wanting to pick up each limb to see if they were real. Tony waved his hand over Peter while he sipped his coffee. "Introduce yourself. And then explain what you're wearing." Peter blushed. "Hi..I'm Peter Parker. This is the only thing that came in one piece with no Velcro. I had to change into it after I had a bath, Mr. Stark!" "Who bathed you? Pepper and I were sleeping..." "I'm fifteen, Mr. Stark, I can bathe myself. But, Morgan brought out the water for me." He looked up at the man. "I'm not a baby, no matter how small I am." Tony stared down at the small teen who had crossed his arms and was actually pouting. He sighed. He wasn't good at this teenager stuff. He hoped Morgan wouldn't grow up. "Hey, short stack," Clint greeted as walked over to the pouting boy by jabbing a finger into his back, or at least trying to, because somehow he dodged it. "Hey! Hold still," the man teased, trying again, but failed when Peter actually flipped over his hand, sticking to his arm. "What's this? Am I getting old now?" "Oh, you're old, but that's not the case," Tony teased as he sipped his coffee. "I'll explain after you all explain what you're doing here so early." "SHIELD says Hydra is on the move...and looking for him," Steve pointed to Peter, who paled. "And they're desperate to get him back." "Why?" Sam asked, standing. "He's just a kid, from the looks of him." "I'm not a kid. Again, I'm fifteen." He frowned at the falcon. "Anyway," Tony said, completely ignoring the boy. "First things first. Both of you," Tony pointed to Peter on the counter then to Morgan. "Are in trouble. Morgan, wait for your mother. Peter, you're coming to the meeting room. If I have to sit through one of Steve's boring talks, so do you. But, breakfast first. Anyone wanna help?" "What!? Come on Mr. Stark!" Peter's eyes widened while Morgan pouted. "Don't give me that look, young lady. Try it on your mother, and yes Peter, I mean it." He got a bowl out of the cabinet and was busy whisking his second batch of eggs when Pepper came out. "Oh, already put the rest to work, huh?" she asked, kissing Tony on the cheek. "He's a regular slave driver," Clint griped as he worked on the waffle batter. "Only kids are safe from his tyrant ways." "Mm, yeah I can see that." She watched as everyone was doing something and spotted Peter, smiling as he waved at her. "So, I think Morgan has something she wants to tell you," Tony said, looking up for a second giving his daughter 'the look'. "Oh really? And what is that?" she put her best 'mom' face on as she sipped her coffee. "I...I might have taken Peter out of the room this morning..but I did help him get a bath!" The little girl's eyes went moist as she stared at her mother, lower lip sticking out. "Peter was hiding on the floor!" she whined, pointing to the boy. "Yeah, that look doesn't work on me. Time out corner." The woman then turned her attention to the boy who looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. What did we tell you Peter? You could have gotten hurt, even though you're being careful." "But mommy-" Morgan whined. "No but's young lady. Keep it up, and after breakfast your punishment will be no computer for three days." A tear trailed down the girl's face as she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in a mood, but got up and walked to the chair in the corner, flopping down onto it.. "Peter, are you alright?" She bent down see the boy on the counter, seeing him wince in her sights. "I'm okay," He said sadly. He started walking over to Miss Scarlet, when he felt his skin crawl and he dodged just as a salt shaker roll past him. "Hey!" he cried and looked towards the guilty looking Steve. "Did you just try to....a-SALT- me?" The table was silent before everyone snorted all around him, but Tony turned to stare at him in shock. "No, nope, the only one allowed to do dad jokes is me...or Clint." the billionaire stated. "You have to admit, it was kind of cheesy," Sam said, voice laden with amusement as he held up the cheddar he was slicing. "Did you not hear a word I just said?" Tony whined while Morgan giggled from the corner. "Yeah, we heard you, but nobody listens to you, so no big dill," Natasha said with a sly grin, Wanda laughing at that. "Look what you started, kid," Tony glared at Peter, though his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "Now everybody's starting." He flipped the pan with the scrambled eggs. "Not my fault everybody here's a copy cat," Peter said and winced when everyone made a commotion over that, holding a hand over an ear. "Hey, hey, let's not forget who could fit under my boot, kid," Rhodey said kiddingly. "Yeah, but you'd have to catch me first." the boy cheekily replied. "He's got you there," Steve ribbed. "Who knew Thor would have such a good sense of humor." He laughed when the teen groaned. But, Peter swore that if this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. But he still had a 'punishment' to deal with, right? Could Mr. Stark have maybe revoked his phone privileges if he got any as a punishment? No, because that would mean he was a prisoner here. The Avengers wouldn't keep a kid as a prisoner....would they? A large plate was placed by him, breaking him from his foreboding thoughts as the heat from it warmed him, but the smell of the waffles was better than anything. "I never thought any of you would be able to cook," Peter said idly. They acted like a family in the mornings, actually. He liked it. "Are you doubting my mad skills?" Clint asked as he lifted another waffle from the machine. "Never try to speak slang, Clint," Sam said shaking his head. "Mm. Never again." "Okay, eggs are done, how we looking on everything else?" Mr. Stark asked. "Waffles are done," Clint responded as he flipped the last item out of the machines, waving his burnt hands a little. "Everything's done. Let's eat!" Rhodey rubbed his hands together, sitting at the table, eagerly piling his plate up. Pepper passed a small plate to Peter. "Here sweetie. Help yourself, okay?" She smiled at him. Peter nodded and turned towards the plates of food, more food than he could think to eat, but he was hungry, so he was going to try. He reached toward the eggs, pausing when he saw the steam rising from them. He felt the hair stand up on his arm and ducked when a hand sailed over him and Doctor Banner pushed some eggs off his fork. "There you go, Peter. Let's call that a truce." He smiled and continued eating, leaving Peter to eat. The boy smiled and nodded as the avengers teased one another, even laughing with them. All in all, it was a great morning. And then the meeting happened.....the day had started so great for Tony. True he'd gone crazy looking for Peter when he woke, but he had calmed since finding him. He glanced at the boy sitting on Clint's shoulder, talking to Wanda and blushing when the woman smiled. It seemed the boy had a good bond with the archer, which he wasn't jealous of...much. It wasn't like Clint had rescued the kid. But, the sniper did have teenager experience so he knew how to act with them. Tony liked the kid. He was amazingly smart, funny and had a good heart from what he'd seen since Peter had been there. He was still nervous around Tony though, so to see him laughing so easily with Clint and the others made him feel...well, he didn't know what. Jealous? Yes, but there was something more. The thing with Tony, he wasn't good with the emotions. He was very bad at them, actually. But, he wanted Peter to laugh with him like he did with Clint. He was a selfish man after all. So, when they reached the meeting room, he surged forward and snatched Peter off Clint's shoulder with a little "mine", and walked to his seat, letting Peter go onto the table. "Mr. Stark? Why-" "Shh, meeting's about to start," the man said with a grin. The boy simply shook his head and turned to sit, leaning back against Mr. Stark's arm for warmth. "SHIELD has gotten some news on activity within Hydra, all based around him," Steve started, pointed to Peter, who turned a shade of green and white Tony hadn't seen before. "They're looking for him, and they're desperate. There's been no activity on their plans, but I know there's bound to be something in the works as we speak." A noise made them all turn to the door as Bruce walked through with a large cup of coffee, sleep still in his eyes."Sorry, sorry. Friday just told me about the meeting. What's wrong?" The doctor sat next to Tony, and smiled down at Peter, who waved shyly at him. "Peter, actually," Rhodey informed him. "Peter? Are you alright? Did any more powers or symptoms pop up?" The doctor was leaning in to look the boy over, trying to ignore when he pressed into Tony's arm. "Powers?" Natashe was interested as she leaned forward to study the boy. "What kind of powers?" "It seems that Hydra gave him a cocktail of Spider DNA mixed with Gamma radiation," Tony said angrily as he felt the boy shaking against his arm. "Could that be why Hydra is already looking for him?" Bucky stood and walked over to Tony "Tony, please let the kid answer." He pleaded the billionaire, staring him down until the man gave up, leaning back, but keeping his arms on the table. The Winter soldier nodded and leaned over Peter, not missing the way he was shaking, staring up at the soldier in terror. "Who are you, where did you come from, and why are you like that?" Bucky tried to keep his voice light, but his eyes were harsh. A hand touched his shoulder and he looked to see his best friend shaking his head slightly. "We'll get to that later," Steve told Bucky firmly, removing his hand from the man's shoulder. "First things first. We need a protective detail on the kid." Tony scoffed. "He can fit in any of our pockets, I think that's as protected as you can get with the damn Avengers." "That may be, but I will feel much better if Peter is watched every second of the day, no matter where he is." Steve argued, giving the man a look. "Oh come on, you don't think he's a spy, do you? Look at him!" Sam reached over and plucked the boy off the table by his Thor cape, the boy struggling and kicking, trying to get loose before giving up and panting. "Who can he hurt? He's literally smaller than my finger." For an example, the man held up his hand next to the boy. "See?" "Sam," Wanda said dangerously, her hands glowing red. Clint stood and had an arrow in his hand, steely gaze fixed on the Falcon. "Let Peter go." Slowly the man did what he said. "Sorry, kid...I wasn't thinking," he apologized. Tony cupped his hand around the kid moving it towards him, scooping the boy up to look him over, much to Peter's chagrin. "I'm okay," Peter said. "It was just a shock, that's all. I'm okay, promise." He put his hands on the fingertip, trying to stop it from touching his chin to lift his head. "Tony, he said he's okay," Rhodey said quietly. "Trust the kid's word." Stark gave Peter another once over before letting him go, forcing his hands away from the small teen, leaning back. Instantly the teen felt the lack of warmth, but didn't say anything about it, just glad to be out of the man's examining gaze. "Be that as it may," Steve continued after getting a nod from the billionaire, "I would still feel better making sure Peter doesn't wind up in Hydra's hands again. They've obviously gotten this far with their experimentation, and I don't want them to get any further. We've dealt a big blow to them by destroying their lab and taking Peter away from them. Which, even though I am still a little nervous about him, I am glad that he's not under their thumb at the moment." He gave the teen a soft look, which made Peter blush slightly at but thanked the man. "And let's not forget who actually saved him," Tony said light heartedly. "You're welcome." The boy turned toward him with a smile. "Of course, Mr. Stark. There's no way I could ever thank you for what you did for me." The man smiled quickly, then his face fell serious again. "So, we've had a little update on him," the billionaire said, leaning forward again, seeing Peter shiver a little. "Apparently, he's developed some...new abilities." he looked down at the boy who nodded. "As we stated before, the scientists gave him gamma radiated spider DNA the morning we found him." There was silence in the room, but every pair of eyes were on Peter, all of them full of anger. "What did they do to him in that lab?" Sam asked seriously. "It seemed," Steve said, "as though they really wanted him dead by the looks of that cage I saw on the floor." The captain moved forward in his seat. " What did that, son?" Peter shivered at the memory. "The soldiers...they came in with guns...they killed everyone, then tried to..." he took a shuddering breath, then Mr. Stark's hand was around him. "Well, looks like it's story time for the kiddies," Tony said, taking over for a grateful Peter. "Okay, so you all remember the mission the ones lucky enough to be here went on, right?" Everyone nodded. "Well, that happened to be an experimental lab run by Hydra....what we saw was...it was..." Tony took a deep breath. This was the first time he was thinking of it now that he had to. Blood splattered on the glass planes revealing lifeless eyes staring through him..."All the experiments had been killed moments before we got there," he continued. "Most of them were just kids. That's where we found Peter. He apparently was hiding after they tried to kill him, too, if the bullet ridden cage on the floor was the proof." Peter nodded, hugging himself. Not aware of it, he shuffled over to Tony's arm, leaning against it, shivering. "Wait, what destroyed that cage? Kid, how were you able to dodge bullets?" Natasha asked, an incredulous look on her face. "Are you like Scott, where the smaller you are, the slower things move and sound?" Peter shook his head. "N-no...." the teen began, nervously wringing his hands together as he began his tale, glancing up to see shocked and angry faces as he spoke. "You all move normally to me, which I think is kind of weird and scary...but it was super scary when the soldiers came in. They had their guns drawn...and...and they shot everyone...." he sniffled, eyes burning. "A few of those people...even though we couldn't speak...they were my friends." The boy took a deep breath. "Samantha was the girl with the red feathers...She was the nicest, always with a soft smile after the scientists threw me in my cage after a day of testing and shots. Jeremy, he was the boy with the tentacle like fingers. They tried to make him a sea-spy, but they couldn't make him able to breathe underwater, though that didn't stop them from trying. I just....I just can't believe they're gone." In just one second, their lives were snuffed out. Then he thought of himself, and how he was almost killed. The barrel staring him down like a gaping maw, the sound of the bullets being released from the chamber deafening to his ears. The heat and the smell of singed hair as he dodged the overly large bullets, mixed with the sound of bending metal...His breath came in pants, body shivering. Lights started dancing in his vision and the room around him spun. "Pete?" a voice called. "Pete, come on, you need to calm down. Take a deep breath." The hand around him suddenly was laid on his back, making the boy jump and spin, about to grab the fingers, when he saw Mr. Stark looking at him and his hands lowered. "Come on, Peter. Breathe." Tony placed his thumb against the boy's back so he could feel his pulse. The kid was having a bonafied panic attack, he would know the signs of it anywhere. "That's it, kid, good job." Peter took a deep, shuddering breath, the feel of Mr. Stark's heartbeat calming to him. The room stopped spinning slowly, his vision coming back to normal. "I-I'm okay...I'm okay..." Peter suddenly sat, his knees giving out. "Whoa...." "I think that's enough from the kid," Tony said, blocking Peter with his hands. "Hold on with the talk, let me call Pepper in to take Pete somewhere quiet, then we'll talk." Everyone nodded, but Clint stood. "Let me take him to Pepper, get him outta here faster." He came to stand next to Tony. "You okay with that, kid?" Blue eyes pierced Peter's and the boy nodded."Yeah, thank you." He climbed on to the offered hand.

@letsbeinspiredby @sparrowrider @6inchicon @carttorchdeatth

#Iron Man Tony Stark #iron dad #spider son #shrunkpeterparker #MamaPepperPotts #morgan stark #protectiveavengers #theitsybitsyspider

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acryofpain · 6 years ago

Text

Whump Rewrites: Part 2

Excerpt from chapter 4 of John Dies at the End by David Wong.

•••

An hour later, I pulled my Hyundai into Shire Village. I couldn’t get a hold of John anymore, and every few minutes my phone would ring and then stop before I could answer the call, as if he was trying to contact me but failing. I resigned myself to the hope that whatever I had to do next would be apparent from a look at Robert’s place.

His trailer was one of only two that had yellow police tape over the porch and door, and the other one looked as if it had been abandoned months ago. I parked off in the grass across the lot and walked toward Robert’s abode. Nobody was there, or at least nobody that had come in a car. I knocked for some reason – brain still a little foggy and knee throbbing, producing a slight limp in my step – then went in.

They’d cleaned up the blood and guts. I guess that shouldn’t have surprised me, since I should have known they wouldn’t just let entrails collect flies for twelve hours. Still, I recognized the room from the photos I’d been shown, the scene of Robert’s spontaneous explosion. The carpet was a few shades off from its original colour and the walls were forever stained a faded reddish-brown. And there was a smell, awful and organic, sharp and rotten.

I decided right then that I would leave and go home and watch some TV and drink a –

Thump.

I nearly pissed myself. It was a faint sound, from the other end of the trailer. The kitchen end. I stepped into the hall, expecting to see a flame-shooting vampire, a squid-clown hybrid, the Devil himself.

Nothing. Probably just wind. A micro-earthquake. Sudden termite migration.

THUMP.

It was heavier this time, violent. Adrenaline set my muscles on fire and, like a dumbass, I moved toward the sound. Definitely from the kitchen. In seven steps I crossed the Robert Marley estate and my shoes hit linoleum. I looked around at the counter, floor, and appliances, searching for anything that might’ve been out of place. No elves, no gremlins, no nothing. Not yet.

Dead silence. I realized I was holding my breath and had gotten a little dizzy, still not completely recovered from earlier. I realized I was not holding a weapon.

THUMP.

The refrigerator.

THUMP.

No. The freezer section at the top. The little door up there rattled with the sound, like it was bumped –

THUMP.

– from the inside.

Get out. Get out, David, go, go go, go, GO GO GO

With one last thump, the freezer door flew open. A small, shiny, frosted metal canister zipped out and bounced off the panelled wall above me before falling to the carpet, bouncing, and landing next to my shoe. I steeled my courage, then turned and ran my ass off.

In three flying strides I’d made it to the exit, but a half second before my hand would have ripped the knob off the front door, I happened to glance out the window and see a sedan parked out there where none had been before. Plain white, too many antennas.

Cop car.

Somebody getting out.

Morgan fucking Freeman.

He lit a cigarette outside his vehicle, ten feet away from me. I spun around, eyes searching for another way out, but even if there was one it would mean stepping over the possessed jar or whatever had come out of the freezer. It was now sitting on the tile, rocking back and forth, steaming faintly.

No thanks.

A glance back outside. My cop friend was still there, leaning against the car and blowing smoke into the air like some emotionally damaged black-and-white movie detective.

Pock!

A hollow snapping sound. The canister hopped an inch off the floor and so did I when I heard it. It did it again, jumping higher, and I let out a low whine of frustration.

The rumble of an engine emanated from outside and I had the vague idea that maybe, just maybe, Morgan had changed his mind and was now leaving. But with a glance out the window I spotted the news van that was pulling up next to the cop’s cruiser, and he was straightening up, looking a little more than disgruntled with his visitors.

POCK! POCK! POCK!

All of a sudden being arrested didn’t seem so bad – even if it had to be on live TV – and I should have ducked outside with my hands raised high in surrender. Fear kept me velcroed to the doormat, though. I could hear the muffled voices of Morgan and a news reporter having a terse, forced-politeness contest, the detective very adamantly insisting that he had no comments about the tragedies that had taken place inside.

Without warning, and with an incredible, ear-popping snap, the canister erupted, two tiny black pebbles shooting out and ricocheting chaotically before clattering to a stop on the tile. My heart was trying to punch a hole in my sternum at that point and I craned my neck around to examine the scene outside, the cop turning right to me at that exact second to gesture at the trailer. I threw myself back down, cursing under my breath.

He saw you. Did you see the flicker of surprise on his face? He caught a glimpse of your head. Dumbass.

The two pebble things now sat innocently on the ground, unmoving. Waiting.

You know what those are, right?

Nope. No idea.

You know Robert had a stash of that soy sauce shit.

Faint voices, arguing outside.

He couldn’t just cram it under his bed. That shit moves. It has a will, an attitude. It bites.

And then I realized, all at once, what I had come here for. John led me here, of course. When I was on the stuff, the little hit in my bloodstream I got when it attacked my thigh, I could communicate with John. When it wore off, I could not. My one chance to save him lay directly before me, wicked as it apparently was. I picked up the pill-shaped... things, looking like two coal-flavoured Tic Tacs in my palm.

Suddenly, they launched themselves at me. I didn’t realize my mouth was hanging open until that moment and if I had known I would’ve closed it, I assure you. In an instant one was skipping off my tongue and I coughed, hacked, convulsed. It forced itself down my throat and I could feel it wiggling all the way down to my gut. I clamped my lips shut and slapped my hand over my mouth for good measure, pushing myself hard against the wall behind me as if that would keep the sauce away. The second pill landed on my left cheek and then there was pain, a bright, acidic burn that seemed to radiate down to my toes, mixed with the weird, buzzing itch that comes specifically with tearing flesh, the feel of whole nerve endings being torn from their roots and tossed aside. I tasted the copper flow of blood in my mouth, felt something moving against my teeth.

The fucking soy sauce was digging a hole into my fucking face.

I fell flat on the floor, thrashing and rolling like I was having a seizure. I forgot where I was, who I was, everything in my mind vaporized by a hydrogen bomb of pure panic. My face and shirt were wet and sticky with blood and I felt the second intruder crawl across my tongue and down my esophagus, my stomach wrenching with disgust. I heard footsteps outside the door now, felt relieved, knew I would throw myself at Morgan and beg him to take me to the emergency room, to pump my stomach, to bring in an exorcist, to call in the Air Force to bomb this whole town into radioactive dust and bury it under sixty feet of concrete.

And then, calm.

Almost zen.

Officer Freeman stepped through the door and stopped cold at the sight of me. I climbed awkwardly to my feet with my hand over my cheek as he glanced me over. He had two red plastic gasoline cans with him.

He’s gonna burn this place down.

And he’s gonna burn me with it.

He set the cans at his feet and lit another cigarette, likely because he hadn’t been able to finish his last one when the reporter – who he must’ve finally gotten to screw off – interrupted him. He smoked in silence for a moment, squinting past me like I wasn’t even there.

“So,” I began slowly, grimacing as the movement pulled at the hole in my face. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

He shook his head. “Same as everybody. You’re trying to figure out what’s going on. I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing with these here gas cans.”

“I think I know.”

His gaze landed on the blood dripping from my jaw and trailing down my wrist, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve a handkerchief. I took it timidly and pressed it into place, stifling a noise of pain.

“Thank you. I, uh, fell. On a... drill.”

He didn’t acknowledge my lame excuse and picked up one gas can to screw off the cap, then started splashing the thick, rancid liquid around the living room. I watched him for a second before taking a tentative step toward the door. In a blur of movement, Morgan whirled, whipping his hand out. A revolver was now aimed right at my face.

“You leavin’ already?” I quickly shook my head. “Good. Help me.”

“I’ll, uh... I’ll be glad to. But first I want you to tell me what happened to John.”

“I figured he was with you.”

“Me? Didn’t he, you know, die?”

“Sure did. He was in the interrogation room and Mike Dunlow says to him, ‘look, we got dead or missing kids here so you’re gonna stay in this room until I’m satisfied or you die of old age.’ Your boy, when he hears that, he falls over dead. Just like that.”

“Yeah... that sounds like John.”

“And now he’s gone. Hospital says his bed is empty and there’s no sign of him anywhere.”

I carefully picked up the other gas can and Morgan put his gun away. My shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and I began to soak the couch, eyes flicking over to the cop every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t going to try and catch me by surprise. Gasoline dripped from the wallpaper around me, squished in the carpet at our feet, permeating the air. I eyed a half inch of ash that was hanging from the cop’s cigarette, watched apprehensively as it fell onto the floor.

It went out with a soft hiss.

He opened a closet and doused the contents inside and I half-heartedly splashed a few more things before I went down and tossed the half-full can into one of the bedrooms. The survival part of my brain was scrambling for a plan to get the cop’s gun or at least get it away from him, but in my current clarity of mind I understood the certainty of it all. Morgan was going to shoot me and leave me here, no matter what I did. I was just waiting for it now. It was an odd feeling.

The man moved over to the door, blocking my exit, and gestured to his gas can which seemed to be almost empty. “Pick it up and toss it out the door, into the yard.”

I hesitated. He put his gun on me again and I did as I was told, and he pulled out his lighter once more to ignite it. The gasoline fumes burned at my nose now and I was getting lightheaded, a bit unsteady on my feet. Man, I was tired. I hadn’t even slept the night before and then there’d been all this shit to deal with.

“Y’know, everybody’s gotta ghost story,” Morgan said out of nowhere. “Or something of the sort. And nobody thinks it’s real because they figure no one else saw what they did, but everybody’s got their story. Everybody.”

He gazed into the flame at his hand, like he was mesmerized by it. His gun was pointed downward and with a soft click his thumb pulled back the hammer, as if on its own.

“Now what I think,” he muttered to his lighter. “I think all that stuff is both real and not real at the same time. And I think the people who see it and the people who don’t are both right. They’re just like two different radios, switched to different stations. And I think somehow, through some chemistry or magic or voodoo, that faux Jamaican guy opened the door into Hell itself. He became the door.”

I nodded, opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again.

“And me,” he continued, stare hardening. “I intend to close it.”

He raised his gun, and shot me in the heart.

#whump #whump prompt #shot #gun wound #whumpee #jdate #john dies at the end #tbifos #this book is full of spiders #writing #drabble

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boymeetsweevil · 7 years ago

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BTS as (weird) babies in your daycare

Kim Seokjin

The oldest of the bunch

brings two designer brand lunchboxes in to school

his lunches cost more than yours do

he eats all his food and then will go around the lunch table asking the others for small bites of their meal and they usually give in to him because he shouts “but we’re BROTHERS >:O” if they say no the first time around

the one that likes to take you by the hand while you’re in the middle of paperwork or something and bring you to see that castle he was working on

you compliment him on it and then you’re dismissed like:

“Wow jin that’s a great castle you did a great job stacking the blocks”

“Thank you teacher can you leave now?”

And you go back to your paperwork feeling kind of small before you remember that you are more than a decade older than the tiny child that sent you away

not the bossiest child (that’s jimin) but is a close second

is the most catalogue looking child you’ve ever seen

when you’re bored in the classroom during naptime and you play with your phone, he’s the one who only slept for 20 minutes

he then proceeds to come over and sit in your lap for a chance to play with your phone

You open up snapchat and play with the filters with him in the dimmed playroom and listen to his little chime-like giggles

his selfies are 80x cuter than yours before the filters and when the little dog ears come out to play you have no chance

Always brags about his older brother being able to use shoes “with no velcRO and long LONG lOng stringlaces” (=shoelaces)

hoseok always yells back that there’s no such thing as shoes without velcro “unless youre a growned-up and your hyung isn’t a growned-up i saw him at the park hes just a kid too!!”

Always brings in crafts that he made with his au pair for the class

currently has an obsession with hearts so he has been bringing in crudely cut heart shaped cut outs with scribbly stick figures on them

everyone got one, even you

he also made sure to draw himself into everyone’s heart as well

in the one he made for you its clear he drew himself first because he’s normal sized and you’re gigantic and bending horrifically around the edge of the heart because he didn’t plan the spacing well

Also brings in the best group snacks when its a holiday or his birthday

cries when you tell him its not okay to sit on the other boys when they bother him

Always wants to be your helper and repeat what you just said to the class like he’s your assistant he is SUCH a teacher’s pet

“can i be teacher jinnie?”

“ummmmmm...not right now, maybe later okay?”

“oh...When im bigger???”

“uh Yes! when youre bigger”

“okay....Teacher im bigger now”

gives you wet cheek kisses :’)

He has the CUTEST laugh and when he laughs you laugh because its one of those rolling baby laughs that just doesn’t stop and you find yourself chasing him around the playroom to hear his giggle even though your feet hurt

drinks more milk than anyone in the class

as a result he has the NASTIEST farts

Min Yoongi

The one who has been coming the longest but still takes a good 45 minutes to stop sulking after being dropped off before he’s in the mood to play

will legit stand by the window to watch his mom drop him off every fucking morning like he doesn’t know where she’s going and if she’s coming back

when you come over to see if he’ll play with the other kids, he just turns and pouts at you and whines a little and turns back to the window

When he’s not in a funk though he is the most mature kiddo

Plays the best by himself, and is very simply entertained

brought in some homemade maracas for his show and tell day

it was literally just a recycled cardboard container with dried beans in it that he had scribbled all over with 40 different markers

keeps calling it “makaka”, you try not to laugh you fail

he just sat on the edge of the rug in the playroom and shook the box of beans softly to himself for an hour

when the shaking stopped you came over to see if he was alright and you realize he fell asleep

is surprisingly chatty

probably has the best vocabulary or is tied with joon

but also probably ahead of joon in terms of working vocab because while joon knows how to use “extraordinary” he also can’t grasp what the slide is called and yoongi has him beat there

ALWAYS FALLS ASLEEP first

sometimes will ask if he can start nap time early and drags the pillow and blanket the parents bring in from home up to your desk to make a more convincing argument

is always patient zero and gets fevers really easliy

when that happens you have to carry him around while you putter through the classroom and rub his back while he sleeps it off

you have to shush the other kids while he sleeps because theyre always so loud when they ask “Is Yoongi SICK???? :(”

he sleeps in your lap during nap time on those days and you stroke his fat fever-rosy cheeks when he whines in his sleep from the heat

cries whenever taehyung says his drawings are ugly

but they are, especially if he draws you

theres always this weird expression on your face and sometimes you think about it when youre up late at night and then you cant sleep

is full of full facts about insects because his dad reads about them before bed

and is apparently always at the library

you saw him there once and he almost exploded because what are you doing outside the school

“teacher what are you going here”

“i came to get some books just like you”

“but i thought you couldn’t leave the school”

“i can leave the school...”

“wont you get a time out?”

“um no sweetie”

Yoongi has a huge sweet tooth and gets super excited on fridays when his mom packs him like chocolate milk or something

can never open the little carton so he brings it to you and just vibrate next to you until you poke the straw in

pretty sure you saw his eyes roll into the back of his head once while drinking it

has fallen asleep with the carton in his hands on multiple occasions

HAS THE SWEETEST BABY LISP YOU’VE EVER HEARD

when you bring your guitar in for music days he sits at the front and listens SUPER intently and always tries to come over and touch it while you’re playing so have to be like

“yoongi, sweetie, please sit down”

“um okay. teacher ? im gonna play the giddar too okay?”

“while I’m playing it?”

“Yeah :)”

“no yoongi.”

“Okay...teacher?” REPEAT 1-6

Jung Hoseok

This kid is all over the place oh my god

srsly he is always tripping on shit because he is always running

and his jeans are a little too long because they're hand me downs from his sister and he refuses to let his dad put a belt on him in the morning

loves to hold hands but his hands are always so so so sticky

like wtf

he will want to hold your hand during walking field trips and you want to just yank your hand away and wipe it on your jeans and douse it in hot water but you don’t because he loves to hold hands and his hand is small and soft and warm and you don’t want to hurt his feelings :’(

you compromise by helping him when he’s at the sink and make sure he uses soap

probably the one who won’t stop putting his hands down his pullups

not in a weird way but in that way where kids will develop some weird habit/quirk that they do on autopilot for comfort

He probably tests your patience the most because is also: THE LOUDEST

he is that kid that screams bloody fucking murder when you turn the lights off for naptime, every day :)

but not to be funny because he’s scared of the dark

he was originally placed somewhere else but he kept getting up in the middle of nap time to drag his blanket and pillow over to you to sleep nearby

when you asked him what he was doing he said that he sleeps near his big sister when he gets scared and you have to bite your knuckle not to cry when you realize he counts you too

Speaking of big sister, dawon goes to the day care for older kids on the floor above ur classroom

sometimes the teacher upstairs will let her come down to say hi

she stands by the doorway and watches him play with stuffed animals for a few minutes before going “hooooooobiiiiiiiiiii” and he drops everything to run over and she pets his hair and asks if he’s being good in that way where you can tell kids are parroting some random adult

tbh this is your least favorite time of the day because he always wails because she can’t stay but he really misses his big sis and makes you tear up a little too

Sometimes another teacher will come in for “Body Time” and does yoga stretches with the kids

hobi is such a whiz at body time and always does the stretches with a surprising amount of control

its probably his second favorite thing next to running in literal circles in the tall grass during outside time in the spring

He’s a bit of a perfectionist because if you move his dominoes out of the little rows he made, even by just a fraction of a millimeter he. will. lose it.

Also won’t eat food that touches or crusts of bread or fruit skins

but he will eat orange slices without fail as long as you “make them into pieces first teacher :’(”

always gets stung by bees?????

because: yoongi likes bees a lot, he thinks theyre cute and interesting and he always takes hoseok by the hand to the nearest hive to tell him facts and point at things with a pudgy finger

but you’ve told the kids time and time again not to go near beehives but yoongi loves bees too much and hobi startles easily and either jostles the hive or pisses off a nearby bee

Kim Namjoon

Is the only one that can read

you were super shocked when you came over to him one day looking intensely at a book and he was confused and you were like

“what’s the matter, joonie”

“i can’t find the kittens in the picture”

“What kittens” and you read the little blurb on the page and see the word mittens and you’re like oh shit he can kinda read

so now you make sure he reads a different book from the bookshelf each day

jimin is always demanding to be read to and joon is happy to do it even when jimin switches pages on him in the middle of the book or asks to start over or start another book

Has those little baby glasses that tie behind his head so he can see

he always drops them though because he fiddles with the tie in the back and they get too loose throughout the day

He’s one of the more affectionate kids in class and will cling to your leg when he’s having a rough day

doesn’t want you to pick him up unless you’re sitting because he’s scared of heights

will sit on your lap any time its free though

often competes for lap space with kookie and often loses because kookie runs faster or joon will fall because this is joon we’re talking about

hes a good sport about it and stands next to you and asks kookie when his turn is next very sweetly

No surprise but namjoonie is always falling

but he never gets majorly hurt

maybe he scrapes a knee or a hand or something minor

he doesn’t cry much either hes a tough cookie!!

he’ll tell you a fact about prehistoric jellyfish with a wavering voice and watery eyes while you put his bandaid on

Baby Joon LOVES LVOES LVOES apple sauce

he cannot get enough of it and MANY of the stains on his little cords (his favorite clothing item) are apple sauce stains

Namjoon is sadly that kid that will eat anything though so you’re constantly watching him to make sure he doesn’t eat anything deadly

when he’s being too quiet or still in the corner of your vision you walk up quietly behind him and just stick a hand out and he spits whatever it is into the napkin in your palm with a goofy smile

eats his boogers probly :(

Joons mom always brings little treats for you because she was worreid that he would be bullied or isolated when she first enrolled him in the class but he’s doing well and she’s glad for the atmosphere you’ve set up

sometimes she sends him in with your treat if she’s too busy in the morning so he’ll totter in with his glasses and what looks like some homemade cake and your can’t help but scoop him up and plant a kiss on his cheek and tell him to tell his mom thank you

his best friend is probably jin because jin knows the alphabet and appreciates namjoon’s knowledge

jin helps joon get over his fear of the swings, but he’s still scared of heights i assure you he will start to wail if you take his feet too high off the ground

cries when he spills his apple sauce which is often but he always has a spare

but! you’re not sure if his mom packs it because he loves it so much or because he’s bound to drop one

Park Jimin

When he first came in to school you gasped because those cheeks were a gift from above and the little always-there pout was so cute

he lives for praise, he is such a ham and he loves the way the old ladies at the front desk always try to bribe him with candy for a cheek pinch

he’s a shrewd little business man and won’t let anyone touch his cheeks for less than 2 soft caramels

Park Jimin is as bossy as they come

but everyone in the classroom has no problem with it except maybe you sometimes

he is always going “Teacher! Come here!” from somewhere in the room and you always have to go “You want to try that again, Park Jimin?” and he goes “Teacher! PWEASE come here!” and ur like...ok

Fairly independent

his dad assured you he knows how to cut with regular scissors but jimin continues to use the kiddie scissors and then act like he can’t do it and blink up at you for help

he just wants you to watch him do it

can also put on his own snowsuit without help but still wants you to do it for him because he LIVES for the personal attention

Is a tiny bit violent?

will yell really loud if you take his truck or his dino dolly

or if you make him try to take off his favorite faux cowhide sweater when its time to paint

never hits/kicks/bites tho

the one time it looked like he might hit jungkook you were there in an instant to pull him away and give him a calm and quiet but stern lecture about why his hands are not for hitting or hurting

he had frustrated tears welling up in his eyes when you brought him back to JK and had him use his words

“Kookie, I dont like when you take my toys when im still playin wif dem”

JK: *is preverbal*

and you pry the toy out of jungkook’s freakishly strong baby grip and return it to jk

Jimin’s best friend is probably tae

their moms are friends and they regularly have play dates at each other’s houses

sometimes they come in together in the mornings if one mom is busier than the other

they sleep next to each other during nap time

Chim cries when he can’t sit next to tae during snack time

Has a very adult palate for a baby

i.e. he loves vegetables

is kind of nosy and will come over to your desk when you open your lunch bag and ask to see the vegetables

you make sure to always pack a veggie because the one time you didn’t his eyes widened and he said “mama says you die if you dont eat no veg-ables”

asks if everything is a “veg-able”

jimin: *points to sandwich* veg-able?

you: no

jimin: *points to kimbap/turkey leg/piece of cake/bag of chips/an apple* veg-able?

you:....no

if you did bring a veggie that he doesn’t already have in his lunch, he’ll ask for a bite

normally you have to tell kids no when they ask for your food because you’d end up with everyone asking for a bite and no lunch, but no one else likes veggies in the class.

so sometimes you slip a sliced cucumber to him and he holds it in two hands and runs back to his spot to eat it and then comes back like an outdoor cat looking for more food

Has a lovely singing voice

its high and pretty, kind of angelic and he tells you that he sings for his grandma a lot

you praise his singing so naturally he loves music day too and if you sing a song he sings with his mom at home he gets so excited

yoongi is enthralled when jimin knows the words to a “teacher song” before its been taught to the class

Kim Taehyung

idk why this is so pertinent to my idealization of him as a child BUT: Has the biggest head out of anyone in the classroom sorry

is so so so cute, might even be your favorite..

he’s super agreeable

loves to cuddle, eat all his food in his little stackable lunch containers, naps well, plays nicely with others, listens pretty well

BUT

he always pees himself :(

and you don’t understand it because his dad came in and bragged about how much of a big boi his son is at home in the bathroom using the toilet but at school? NOPE

he has like 8 changes on clothes for this reason

you can always tells when he’s about to pee himself because

he stands in the middle of the room and just goes “sorry teacher” really softly

your heart breaks when you hear how sad he is that he wet himself but you’re also a little irate because you’re convinced no one deals with as much pee as you do

you give him the talk every time which consists of your wriggling him into some ridiculous pink overalls while trying to make eye contact with him so you can tell him that when he feels like he has to go, he can just go to the potty

Tae carries a blanket around at all times!!!!!

he takes it everywhere with him and uses a different one to cover him up during nap time.

cries on the days that his dad drops him off without it because it has to be washed

the blanket was purple at one point but now it is straight up grey-brown

is surprisingly good at walking/running with it and not tripping on it

Jimin started calling him tata

so now everyone calls him tata

Is probably the class sweetheart as well

when he’s out sick, literally everyone goes “where’s tata” at random times of the day even though you went over who was “at school” and who was “at home” and said he was at home

tae is so so so so good at drawing its crazy

hes way above his age grade in terms of drawing BUT he has a little trouble getting a pencil into his grip

so you have to help him finagle it into his little hand but once he does WOOO here comes a dragon with you on its back holding a big ol sword

Is that one kid who manages to run around naked the most

its probably because you’re always in the middle of changing him when someone else distracts you and you turn around and all of the sudden he’s naked as the day he was born from the belly button and waddling back to where jimin is playing with flubber on the rug

you have to run over and scoop him up but also hold him at arms length because hello? pee?

he thinks this is hilarious and flaps his arms like hes flying

Everyone kisses tae

like when the kids get to that stage where they all try to kiss each other because their parents probably kiss them and they're like imitating their parents

everyone goes for tae

he takes it like a champ

but his face is probably v sticky after wards so you pull him over and take a wet wipe to his face

might ask you for a kiss and you place one on his LARGE forehead lol

His grandma comes in often with dolls she made for the class

tae shows them off proudly during his show and tell days and makes sure everyone plays nicely with them or theyll break because theyre normally made from soft yarn

He has a major thing for stickers and is always asking you for stickers to adorn his whole body with

you are constantly telling him to take stickers off his face and sometimes he puts them on his eyebrow and you sigh because crying is inevitable at that point

you have limited him to 3 stickers on any given day and they go on a piece of paper labeled “Taehyung’s Tata’s stickers”

was mad when you tried to write his full name on the paper because he is tata at school >: (

Jeon Jungkook

the youngest! a true baby

when he first came to the classroom he was right in the middle in terms of age so like he technically aged out of the nursery down the hall but he wasn’t at the normal age minimum to enter your classroom and you were like Ummmmm i guess he can come? because you didn’t have very many kids so what’s one more right?

Started walking and running in the same day during his first week at the classroom!!!

you were worried he’d be too small to keep up with the other kids and might be hurt with their type of play but nope

he was constantly crawling after them trying to keep up until one day he just...stood up and you were like omg and pulled your phone up

when his parents came to pick him up you showed them the video and his dad cried

Now he’s the fastest runner in the class

he doesn’t really talk yet

hes still preverbal but you can tell he gets whats going on around him

the others are good about it

although you did have to have a day where you addressed the question they kept asking you

“Why doesn’t kookie have words?”

“he’s too little. but he’ll talk when he’s ready”

it was a short talk

He knows two words

no and something that is the approximation of hyung but you’re not certain

if he wants your specific attention he just goes “AH” really loud

says no to everything even when he means yes

this means that when you ask him if he wants to eat snack he says no and then cries when you put his lunchbox away thinking he may actually not be hungry

despite being the best at toddling, he always wants to picked up

he is such a teacher’s pet its crazy

its probably the one piece of evidence that he is the least mature of the group

and also because he misses the presence of his mom

he will settle for sitting in your lap when you’re at your desk

or when you’re trying to read to the group during “carpet reading time”

he will try to turn the pages for you but it took him a while to realize you weren’t always done reading when he turned a page and you’d have to fight him to turn the page back so you could finish

now he waits for you to say “you can turn the page now kook”

He is so so so shy omg

if a teacher from another classroom comes by to borrow something, they naturally try to come over and say hi to the one kid who you’re carrying on your hip or sitting in your lap and he just turns and smushes his face into your armpit until he suspects they’ve left

he does, however, have a weird obsession with the handyman that comes in to repair that one tricky light in the back of the art closet

kook will stare at him until he leaves and its cute because he’ll leave your lap or whine to be put down and toddle over to watch him work from a “reasonable distance”

the repairman is kind of gruff looking but he always turns and spots kook watching him like 8^O and will snort

one time he handed kook a rubber band that he had in his breast pocket and kook kept it clutched in his little hand all day

actually waves goodbye when he leaves its so precious

Kook is very sensitive to touch and stuff

so in the winter when he has to wear layers he cries a lot if the t-shirt under his sweater bunches up the wrong way

like he’s so finicky about tactile stuff

he can’t have bare feet ever

wears slippers all year, even in the summer

also cries if the classroom gets too loud and covers his ears

you think maybe he may have some sort of sensory sensitivity

won’t eat the bananas in his lunch unless you mash them with a fork for him

cried when you cut open a pumpkin to show the kids the seeds inside and later roast them because the smell was too strong for him

you had to put a tiny face mask on him to get him to calm down and he resembled a ninja turtle the whole day

He loves hobi very much and is always super giggly when hobi pays extra attention to him

always follows him around and is constantly bumping his nose on hobi’s back because he follows him THAT CLOSELY

always fights with jin

meaning he constantly swipes toys out of his hands and then sometimes gets sat on as punishment and cries until you heft jin off him

you don’t know why they always fight

is so good at hidden item picture books like Ispy

you will zoom through them because he finds everything immediately and you wonder if maybe hes a genius

you had a hunch one day and put him down in front of a 400 piece puzzle and he did a surprisingly good chunk of it in the span of the school day and went straight to it the next day

I was trying so hard to write this and couldnt think of anything and then i remembered yesterday that my friemd Worked in a daycare for the last three years??? so a lot of this is real life stuff which is funny but also really extra

all pics are from weheartit...

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